


I think I caught you catching me

by rydia



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Claudeleth Week, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Minor Ferdinand von Aegir/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:02:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25455883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rydia/pseuds/rydia
Summary: Jeralt sighs. “Khalid.” A thousand thoughts swirl in his head. The first is the guilty surprise that Byleth has a soulmate. She’s so quiet, so still – like her heart, is the forbidden thought – that it has never occurred to him she would ever be someone who has one of these soulmate brands, a so-called blessing from the goddess.Claudeleth week day 6: fate
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 80
Kudos: 603
Collections: Claudeleth Week 2020





	1. Childhood

The last thing Jeralt expects on this morning, like so many countless other mornings in which he’s been on the road, is for for his daughter to trudge up to him, silent as ever, tugging on his pants to get his attention. He turns from where he’s preparing breakfast for them both, and starts when he sees her only half dressed.

“Kid–“ he begins, but stops when Byleth thrusts her left arm out at him, showing him the word.

His breath catches at the sight of the dark gold script etched across the inside of her upper arm.

_A soulmark._

“Byleth,” he whispers, not able to hide the pain in voice. With a furtive glance around the camp to make sure no one is watching them, Jeralt tucks Byleth’s arm by her side before picking her up gently and making his way back to their tent. They’re between jobs at the moment, heading south to Adrestia to avoid the harsh Faerghus winter.

Once inside, he sets her down on the bedroll and inspects her arm.

“K-Khal,” Byleth starts, attempting to sound the word on her arm out. She’s been learning her letters, something Jeralt wishes he had more time to help her with, because she unsettles the rest of the troop so much that none of them are any help. But the kid is progressing well – she’s quiet, but she’s sharp.

And she seems remarkably unbothered by a sudden word appearing on her skin.

He sighs. “Khalid.” A thousand thoughts swirl in his head. The first is the guilty surprise that Byleth has a soulmate. She’s so quiet, so still – _like her heart_ , is the forbidden thought – that it has never occurred to him that she would ever be someone who has one of these soulmate brands, a so-called blessing from the goddess.

His own brand pulses on his wrist, and grief washes over him. If only Sitri were here.

 _Sitri_.

How awful for him to think that her daughter – _their_ daughter – odd as she might be, couldn’t have a soulmate. Jeralt has grown to love his child, will protect her with all the ferocity that the Blade Breaker possesses, but it’s taken time, and still now, he has these thoughts that shame him.

And beyond all of these thoughts is the question – _who the hell is this Khalid_? It’s not a common name – smacks of Almyran, Jeralt thinks, and he can’t help but wonder at that. Will this Khalid be a mercenary himself, who comes west to Fódlan, or will Byleth end up going east and meeting a man under the blazing bright skies of Almyra?

“Khalid,” Byleth repeats, blinking down at her arm. Her big blue eyes swing up to his face. “What does it mean?”

He’s never told her about soulmarks. Never had to. Never _wanted_ to.

But now he has to. Briefly, gruffly. _Your soulmate, Byleth_.

While he speaks, she listens with rapt attention, eyes never leaving his face until he finishes and then she looks back down at her arm again, face as blank as ever.

“When will I meet him?”

Jeralt chuckles at that, surprised that this is her first question. Perhaps he shouldn’t be. “Who knows, kid. That’s the curse with these things – they tell you the name but nothing else.” Some say it’s the goddess’s sense of humour, that.

Jeralt thinks it’s highly impractical.

“The connection,” he continues, “only happens once soulmates recognise each other.”

She frowns at that, just a tiny little downturning of her lips.

“Look,” he says, kneeling down and resting his hands on her shoulders. “These names are precious, but they’re dangerous. People will use them against you. So keep it to yourself.” He’s not really worried about Byleth going around telling people about her soulmate – the kid is too quiet for that and she hardly talks to anyone. But he isn’t taking any chances, even if that kind of nonsense with faking names is a thing more common among the nobility. No one would care about the soulmate of a mercenary’s daughter – if that’s all Byleth is, which he knows she isn’t, not after whatever Rhea did to her.

No, he’ll take no chances, and he knows by Byleth’s serious nod – too serious for a child her age – that she understands.

“Do you have one?” she asks, and grief clenches around his heart like a vice.

His response is gruff. “I do.”

Byleth is quiet, staring at him in a way he knows other people find unnerving but it's something that he’s grown used to. He knows she’s waiting for him to say more.

He can’t, not now. She deserves to know about her mother, of course. And someday, maybe…

But not now. “When you’re older,” he manages to say through his constricted throat, “I’ll tell you.”

And she nods again, accepting that answer so easily and trustingly, and Jeralt places his hand over the name on her arm. Not for the first time, he worries about Byleth's future. But… at least now he knows there’s someone out there for her, and that, despite whatever may happen to him, she won’t have to be alone.

_Khalid, whoever you are, please take care of my daughter._

***

“Maman!” Khalid yells as he runs through her rooms. Somewhere behind him, his governess shouts, but he ignores her. He’s long since learned how to escape her.

“What is it, Khalid?” His mother turns from the large mirror at her dressing table where a maid is fussing with her hair, alarmed.

“Look!” With a flourish, Khalid pulls off his shirt, making Tiana give a surprised huff of relieved laughter that he isn’t hurt. He drops the clothes to the ground and points to his chest.

The smile on Tiana’s face drops. The hands in her hair still. She turns to the maid with a critical eye, not liking the way the woman is focused on the name on her son’s skin. She snaps her fingers, and the maid hastily gets back to her job.

“Stop,” Tiana orders. “Leave us, and fetch the king. Tell the governess to wait in her rooms.”

The maid drops to a bow and then leaves. Tiana watches her go in silence.

“Maman?” Khalid asks, a little more uncertain now, having not expected this kind of reaction.

Rising from the dressing table, she takes Khalid’s hand and leads him over to one of the long, low couches. There, she sits with him, tucking him into her side. “Let us wait for your father and then we will discuss your soulmark.”

He pulls away from her embrace, green eyes alight with interest. “So it is a soulmark?”

Tiana smiles, brushing some of his unruly hair away from his face. Her boy has always been so curious and clever. “Yes, it is.”

He puffs out his chest and tilts his head back, looking at the name just over his heart.

“ _Byleth_ ,” he says. “I've never met anyone with that name.”

“No,” Tiana murmurs. It is not an Almyran name. It’s not even a name she’s ever heard of back in Fódlan, but she can guess that’s where this Byleth hails from.

The doors open and King Kadir enters, drawing their attention. Tiana smiles at the sight of her husband, who has clearly been training, sweating and dishevelled in his light shirt and breeches.

He returns the smile and crosses the room. “You called for me, my love?”

“Yes, it–“

“I have a soulmark, papa!” Khalid exclaims, interrupting her. He stands, still puffing out his chest to show his father.

The smile remains on Kadir’s face, but Tiana can see immediately that he’s all business. There’s a slight tensing around his eyes, which have gone calculating and she holds back a sigh. It would be nice for them to be able to celebrate this and acknowledge that Khalid’s soulmate is out there, but unfortunately it isn’t that simple.

Kadir kneels, inspecting the name. “Byleth?” He sounds out the unfamiliar name and meets Tiana’s eyes over Khalid’s shoulder, raising an eyebrow. She understands what he’s asking.

She nods. _Yes, a Fódlan name._

“Is it a boy or a girl’s name, papa?” Khalid asks, still so earnest and innocent despite all he’s been through so far in his short life. Tiana wishes it could always be like this.

She shrugs at Kadir’s tilt of his head. _Either_. She assumes so, anyway.

His other eyebrow raises, but he forces a laugh. “What does it matter, my son, so long as they are a formidable warrior?”

Khalid grins. “I hope they can ride a wyvern.”

Kadir laughs again, and stands, before taking a seat beside his wife. Tiana forces a smile to her face, wondering if Khalid will ever get to meet his Byleth, if life will be kind to them. She does not wonder if _fate_ will be kind to them – she doesn’t believe in that.

“Any worthy partner must be able to ride a wyvern, this is true,” Kadir says with a sly look at Tiana, which makes her smile ease into something more genuine. “But, Khalid, this name, you must keep it to yourself.”

“Your father is right,” Tiana interjects as gently as she can. “That name is a Fódlan one. You know what that means.”

She hates the way the smile drops from his face, and how his eyes go hard. He is too young for this – to _look_ like this, hard and wearied, already – but what choice do they have? Khalid looks at the floor as his nails dig into the messy writing on his chest. Whatever excitement he’d had is gone, now replaced with the cold, quick acceptance that this mark would be something else their enemies would use against him if they knew of it.

“Can it wash away?”

His sullen tone breaks her heart, and she leans forward to tilt his face up to meet his eyes. In a firm voice, Tiana tells him, “No, it cannot be removed.”

It is not strictly true – she’s heard of the dark magic used to remove or alter or even implant fake soulmarks and while she is no mage, she’s learned enough in her life to know to keep that kind of magic away from anyone she cares about.

Khalid will have to learn to live with this name.

“Now, now,” Kadir says in a way she knows he hopes is soothing, but that’s never been his strong point. “It is a special thing to have a soulmark.”

“But you don’t have one.” He looks from his mother back to his father, still sullen. “Neither of you do.”

A pause. That’s true. Tiana had grown up among people obsessed either with soulmarks or crests and in the end found herself relieved to have neither, and left that life behind. She’s not sure what to make of the fact that her son has both.

She had chosen Kadir, might even have felt proud about the fact that she chose him of her own free will and not because of something predetermined by a goddess she’d never quite believed in.

“No,” she says gently, “we don’t. You know not everyone does. It’s special Khalid, but it has its dangers.”

He mutters something under his breath that neither of them make out, but she knows he understands.

“Khalid,” Kadir is speaking with forced cheerfulness, but it’s enough to make Khalid raise his head. “We will speak more on this later, but for now, Nader has returned from the Throat. Go to him and show him how much you’ve learned since he left.”

Khalid stands, the frown remaining on his face as he continues to look from one of them to the other. But eventually he nods and leaves, much quieter than than his entrance had been not so long ago.

When the door behind him closes, Kadir turns to Tiana and takes her hand in his. “How many know?”

She considers. “The maid that came to you earlier. Khalid’s governess, I suspect, and anyone else present in his rooms and perhaps any of the guards that saw him tearing through the palace this morning.”

Kadir exhales slowly through his nose. “Some of them we can trust…”

“But not all,” she finishes, and he nods, face solemn.

“I know our Khalid must learn to take care of himself, but this is not a secret we can risk exposing. I will take care of it, my love,” he says, raising her hand to press a kiss to the back of it.

“No,” Tiana declares, thinking back on the way that maid had looked at Khalid – a look that spoke of her hunger of knowledge to barter or betray the royal family with. “You may take care of the guards, but the rest of the household is my responsibility.”

Tiana has long since earned the moniker of _Demon Queen_. It’s time to remind those who threaten her family of it.


	2. White Clouds - part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY CLAUDE VON RIEGAN ✨

Garreg Mach looms ahead. Distantly, Byleth wonders how she’s never been here before. _Has she_? She’s sure she’d remember a place like this…

Edelgard turns her head towards her slightly, like she’s judging her reaction. “There it is, Garreg Mach monastery.”

“Impressive, isn’t it?” By her side, the blonde prince – Dimitri, Byleth remembers – smiles, but there’s something awkward in his posture.

And the other one, Claude, shrugs. “It really is Fódlan in a nutshell. The good and the bad.”

Byleth turns and catches his eyes. Bright green, clever but a little distant. Something in the way he’s looking at her makes her frown. He’s assessing her, sizing her up. They all are, she's sure, but something about Claude’s demeanour makes her feel… something. She’s not sure what it is.

Claude quirks an eyebrow at her, a smile on his lips that she thinks isn’t a true one. It’s all sharp and pointed, and his eyes stay the same, – not like Dimitri who is trying too hard but still genuine, or Edelgard who is cautious and reserved but whose eyes at least warmed slightly when she smiled.

She thinks of their countries – Leicester, Faerghus, Adrestia – all places she’s worked in with her father and his mercenaries. Even though Byleth has never paid attention to those in charge before, it’s still strange to think these people would be ruling in a few years.

“I did not get your name, Miss Eisner,” Dimitri interjects, all politeness. “May I call you that?”

Claude’s smile widens, like he senses an opportunity. “Or do you prefer the Ashen Demon?”

Byleth shakes her head. She’s _never_ liked that name, the way people say it and the way it makes her feel like something that’s more monster than human.

Edelgard makes a noise of disapproval, likely at Claude’s demeanour.

“Please,” Byleth says, casting a glance over all three of them, “just call me Byleth.”

Claude stumbles, seemingly over nothing. Dimitri quickly steadies him, a hand on his harm, but Claude pulls away quickly, his movements jerky.

They all stop and stare at him. Even Edelgard looks surprised.

“Are you alright, Claude?” Dimitri asks.

“Fine.” He coughs into his fist, not meeting her eyes. “Sorry, don’t know what happened there.” He raises his head, not looking towards Dimitri, and instead Byleth finds his green eyes searching her face.

His expression is cold. Blank. She doesn’t know what to make of it.

But then it’s gone and a smile crosses Claude face, but it looks wrong. “I’m usually so graceful. I guess I’m just excited to be back at Garreg Mach. The school year has certainly started off with a bang, hasn’t it?”

Dimitri laughs. “It certainly has.”

Edelgard’s eyebrows are still raised as she takes them all in, and Byleth gets the impression she’s done with the conversation. “Well, then. Shall we?” She lifts a shoulder, indicating they should start moving again. Byleth can see her father ahead, still talking to that knight in the distance.

She nods at Edelgard, stepping up beside her as they resume walking.

She can feel Claude’s eyes on her back the whole time.

***

Claude still holds onto his familiar nightly routine even at Garreg Mach, where he is, hopefully, less at risk for being assassinated for being a Fódlan mutt than he had been in Almyra.

Unfortunately, he’s at risk of being assassinated for being the new heir to the Riegan Dukedom and entire Alliance – one that no one had known about before.

So he carefully checks his room, beginning when he unlocks the door, making sure the piece of paper jammed between it and the wall is still in place. It always is, but that’s just one of the checks he has in place. So far, though, no one seems to have been snooping.

Not that they’d find anything if they did. Sure, the poisons might give pause, but nothing that might give him away.

Once he’s sure no one has been in the room, and both door and window are securely locked, Claude sits on the edge of his bed, breathing long slow breaths in and out. The room is dim, lit only by one dirty oil lamp on his desk, which is already cluttered with books and papers.

For a long time he stares at the flame, considering.

Slowly he stands and pulls of his shirt, making his way to the desk and dropping into the chair, searching for the small mirror he knows is in one of the drawers.

When he finds it, he angles it so he can see the letters etched just above his heart.

 _Please just call me Byleth_.

It had been the last thing he’d been expecting, to hear that name spoken out loud. Not even his parents have said it since the day his soulmark had appeared.

And the name belongs to a mysterious mercenary, who already has a renowned reputation despite not being much older than him.

It does not mean this Byleth is _his_ Byleth, the one over his heart. Claude knows that. It’s just a name. There has to be more than one Byleth in Fódlan.

He doesn’t believe in fate. He doesn’t rely on the protection of gods and goddesses that he hardly believes in, or thinks those gods and goddesses are deciding the lives of people, even if that flies in the face of what people believe about soulmarks – that they are _fate_.

Claude does not believe fate will hand him his dreams; his has to grab them for himself.

He does not believe it was fate – an unchangeable fate – for him to have suffered as he is. What he’s fought for, and will continue to fight for, isn’t out of his own control.

But…

Could this mercenary, who had moved so quickly on the the battlefield, with more grace and power than anyone could ever suspect – could this woman be his soulmate? Has a boon been dropped into his hands? Is it somehow possible that he’s found someone that will stand by his side, that he can _trust_?

The letters on his chest seem to glint as the lamp flickers, the oil burning low.

Claude knows he has the advantage in this. _If_ she is his soulmate – and he ignores the way the mark seem to pulse in response to that thought, like mocking him for thinking _if_ – _if_ she is his soulmate then somewhere on her body it will say _Khalid_ and not _Claude_.

And it cannot be that easy. He cannot trust someone he doesn’t know because of this _magical connection_ that no one has ever been able to fully explain. He’s read both Almyran and Fódlan research on soulmates, and everyone has a different theory, bending their own biases to fit. _A gift from the goddess_ , as they say in Fódlan, does not sound all that different from the prevailing Almyran view that soulmates are a blessing from one of the gods. Which god is often a matter of discussion. Both views are unhelpful and uninteresting – but it had at least confirmed to Claude that people aren’t different at all, no matter what side of the mountain they may live on.

As for Byleth, he especially cannot trust someone so suspicious – if she is just a mercenary, why has the Archbishop taken her on to teach in the Academy as a Professor?

There are secrets here, ones that Claude wants to discover. And the fact he doesn’t know if he’s drawn to Byleth because of the soulmate bond or because she’s an enigma, is annoying. He doesn’t like the idea of it somehow being out of his control.

He’s done plenty of research on soulmates, and remains irritated by how much conflicting or downright fake information there is around them. What Claude does know for certain is that the quickest way to find out if she _is_ his soulmate is to ask – show her the name on his skin and find out if she’s his other half. The soulmate bond fully snaps into place, it is said, after it’s been acknowledged – through touch, some say, through words, say others. Again, frustratingly vague because “ _every soulmate pair is_ _unique_ ”.

But Claude is unwilling to do that, and isn’t even sure which prospect is worse – that she is, or _isn’t_ , his soulmate. So no, he’s not going to show his hand yet.

And Byleth is to be the Golden Deer’s professor. Claude doesn’t know why she’s picked his class, but he’s pleased by it. It means he has plenty of opportunities to find out more about her without it being suspicious. As house leader, he’ll be expected to spend plenty of time around his Professor. Around _Byleth_.

With a shake of his head, Claude snuffs out the lamp, not wanting to look at the name any longer. He climbs into bed, but sleep does not come.

While he’s done extensive research on soul marks, Claude has never allowed himself to think much about _his_ soulmate, especially not since he’d decided his path and accepted that it’s one he’ll likely walk alone. He’s used to being alone by now, never fully accepted by anyone.

A name on his skin doesn’t change that or undo what’s come before.

Byleth’s face flashes in his mind, so hard to read. But he’d seen her protect Edelgard. She’d cared about a stranger enough to do that.

It’s something he can exploit, that compassion.

If he wants to.

If she’s not his soulmate, maybe.

***

“You’re always early, Teach.”

Byleth glances up from her desk to find Claude standing at the door to the Golden Deer classroom. She watches him approach, waiting until he’s standing by her desk, before she replies.

“I like to review what I’m going to teach at the start of each day.”

“Makes sense,” he replies, leaning against the desk, looking down at the messy piles of papers covering it. “Must be a bit of a challenge for you, all this.”

Byleth lowers her eyes to her work again, unwilling to admit that he’s right or think about how out of her element she is.

When she doesn’t respond, Claude goes on. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure you’re more than capable. It’s just strange that the Archbishop would trust a mercenary with leading a class!” There’s a joviality in his voice that Byleth thinks is forced, and it makes her look up again, scrutinising him. “Woah, no need to look at me like that, Teach. I just wanted to say that I’m always here if you need help. Any questions you have – I’m the guy to ask.”

Despite still doubting his sincerity, Byleth nods slowly. “Thank you, Claude. I’ll keep that in mind.” She looks back down at her papers, trying to get her thoughts organised.

“Say,” Claude says, “can you tell me why you picked the Golden Deer?”

Byleth takes a moment to answer, raising her head and taking in Claude’s nonchalant lean against her desk, the casual air of his question.

 _I wanted to know more about you_ , she thinks. _I don’t know why, but I find you fascinating._

“I appreciated that you were the only one that didn’t give me the hard sell straightaway,” is what she says. “Dimitri and Edelgard came on a bit strong.”

Claude’s lips curls upwards, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his face.

***

The Professor is inscrutable.

Claude finds it immeasurably frustrating. She’s always perfectly polite, and never seems to mind stopping and chatting with anyone, helping them if they need it, and is clearly, _obviously_ trying her best to gain her footing as a teacher despite having no idea what’s expected of her. At first, she struggles, but she rarely comes to him for help, despite his offer. When she does, it’s usually about what his education was like growing up, and he has to send her off to Lorenz for that, because while he had a crash course in Leicester and Fódlan politics from his grandfather when he’d arrived in the country, Claude would rather avoid talking extensively about his childhood. Too much to conceal. Let Lorenz tell Byleth about what the proper nobles of the Alliance learn.

Probably nothing that she’s planning on teaching them, anyway.

Byleth is at her best with the practical sides of things. Her favoured weapon is a sword, and there’s no doubt she’s a master with it, but she knows enough of everything else to be able to teach them – although Claude has downplayed his own skills with a bow, just a little bit. No need to stick out for excelling just yet.

He suspects Byleth might have her suspicions, though. She’d looked at him with a clouded expression for a long time at their last training session, something clearly on her mind that she'd never verbalised.

So long as she keeps it to herself, Claude doesn’t mind. And he enjoys what else she teaches them – something he can only describe as _survival_. She has an uncanny ability to understand a battlefield, to assess the strengths and weaknesses of both friend and foe. She doesn’t fight with any ideas of noble honour – like Lorenz and perhaps a few of the nobles from the other countries have. What she has is real, raw experience. He can see her blunt way of phrasing things sometimes bothers some of the others, but Claude has learned that it’s her own way of showing that compassion she’d first showed when she saved Edelgard.

Byleth cares about them and wants to make sure that – come what may – they’ll survive. It’s something about her that’s obvious to him, but not to many others, who can’t see further than her blank expression. Judging her in a way that annoys him, because he knows what it is to experience that.

It’s interesting. Byleth is interesting.

No, she’s _fascinating_.

And again, Claude wonders – does he think that because she really is fascinating? Or because she’s his soulmate.

He’s been playing it safe so far. Prodding her with questions about her upbringing and skills, but never mentioning soulmates, because bringing it up will invite questions about whether _he_ has a soulmark.

Instead, he decides to go about it in a more roundabout way, and waits, with some impatience, for the opportunity.

And each time he feels his soulmark pulse or grow warm, he ignores it.

***

Byleth’s memories of her childhood may be fuzzy, but she still remembers well her father’s warning to keep her soulmark private. She’d just assumed that’s what anyone with a soulmark did – after all, Jeralt still hasn’t told her about _his_ mark.

But Garreg Mach makes her question what he'd said – about more than just the soulmarks, to be truthful, and that troubles her. She doesn’t remember much about her childhood, but her father has always been her one constant. It unsettles her to think he might have been wrong.

The first inkling that what Jeralt had told her might not be strictly true is when she meets Caspar, boisterous and loud as he asks her about the best fights she’s been in.

Bemused, Byleth’s eyes drift down to the elegant script etched across his forearm, proudly displayed.

Casper realises what she’s looking at and raises the arm so she can read the name. _Linhardt_.

“He’s a student here too,” he says cheerfully. “I’m sure you’ll meet him. He’s in the library a lot. I guess if you’re a teacher you’ll be in there too, so you’ll meet him even if you aren’t teaching the Black Eagles. We’ve been friends since we were children!” The smile on his face widens. “Lin’s so clever. He–“

Caspar continues on in this vein for a few moments, until a tired looking young man approaches them and halts Caspar mid tirade with a soft touch to his arm.

His sleeves are long, not rolled up like Caspar’s, but Byleth’s sure she can make out a large ‘ _C_ ’ at the edge of the cuff.

“This is him,” Caspar goes on enthusiastically. “Linhardt, my soulmate. This is the new professor.”

Linhardt blinks blearily at Byleth. “A pleasure to meet you.” He yawns. “You’re teaching the Golden Deer?”

She nods, not sure what to make of this sleepy person.

“I’m glad, you look like you work too hard.” He turns back to his soulmate. “Caspar, let’s get lunch.”

“Sure thing. See ya, Professor!”

They leave, leaving Byleth feeling more bemused than ever.

***

It doesn’t take long for Claude to get his opportunity, because the news spreads like wildfire through the monastery that two soulmates have found each other.

And Claude, who likes gossip but doesn’t like to be _seen_ to like gossip, leans into all the conversations carefully, and it’s fine, because _everyone_ is talking about it.

It’s always a big deal when soulmates find each other, but what makes this one extra interesting to everyone is just who it involves. Because who would ever have suspected that Ferdinand von Aegir, loud and bright, future Prime Minister of Adrestia, would be the soulmate of _Felix Fraldarius_ , someone who only seems to exist within the walls of the training grounds. Claude can only assume the two discovered they were soulmates when they were both training because he can’t imagine Felix speaking to Ferdinand anywhere else, or for any other reason, even if his name was on his skin.

Felix grows red and grumpy under the attention, scowling. Ferdinand also blushes, but he smiles and thanks people for their well wishes. They don’t make a big deal out of it themselves. Claude suspects that’s down to Ferdinand wanting to respect Felix’s wishes, because Felix looks like he’s one more congratulations away from stabbing someone. It doesn’t help, though. It’s all anyone is talking about.

Despite finding his soulmate, Felix walks around the monastery looking like he’s permanently sucking on a lemon.

Claude is listening to Hilda talk about it with Annette over dinner one day, keeping quiet himself, but paying attention. Sitting with them is Mercedes and Lyisthea, with Marianne at the edge of the group, eating her meal with her head down.

“Has Felix said anything?” Hilda asks, not bothering to hide her curiosity.

Annette laughs. “Not much. He seems embarrassed by all the attention. He got annoyed when people went to watch him train and told them to go away unless they were going to fight him.”

Hilda also laughs, but Claude can tell she’s slightly incredulous. Felix isn’t a person she can even begin to understand.

“It’s sweet,” Mercedes says decisively, “how much he blushes now.”

“Say,” Claude interjects casually. “Has Professor Manuela spoken to your class about soulmates?”

Annette nods, enthusiastic. “Yes! More than once, actually.”

“She doesn’t have a soulmark.” Mercedes’s mouth twists in sympathy. “I think it bothers her to think there’s no one out there for her.”

“Huh.” Hilda says. “Professor Byleth has never mentioned them at all.” She turns to Claude. “Don’t you think she should?”

Lysithea sighs. “What a waste of time. I’d rather learn about something useful.”

Claude regards Lysithea briefly. He suspects she doesn’t have a soulmark, by her attitude, but she’s never come out and said it. Deciding for once not to tease her, he simply says, “Knowledge is always useful, Lysithea.”

She bristles, but Hilda interjects before Lyisthea can reply. “I wonder if Professor Byleth has a soulmark. She’s always wearing that bulky coat, even when we train.” She wrinkles her nose. “So ugly. And I bet she has great arms underneath. No reason to hide them.”

 _There’s one reason to hide them_ , Claude thinks as he leans back in his seat, satisfied. Hilda will have no compunction asking Byleth about soulmates.

***

Byleth is delivering a lecture about tactics and is in full flow when, out of nowhere, Hilda’s arm shoots up, an expectant look on her face. Byleth notices Claude, who is seated by Hilda, straighten up slightly.

Assuming Hilda has a question about the lecture, she pauses and nods for her to proceed.

“Professor,” Hilda begins with an eager expression. “What do you think about soulmarks and soulmates?”

Byleth’s mouth drops open in surprise as a ripple goes through the rest of the class, a low murmur rising as a few of them turn to each other, wondering at Hilda’s sudden question. Lysithea huffs, making her displeasure known.

Hilda goes on, using her best cajoling voice. “It’s just that the Blue Lions and the Black Eagles have had discussions about them with their Professors, so I was wondering when we’d have ours. Especially since everyone is talking about Felix and Ferdinand.”

Felix and Ferdinand, _right_. Byleth found it hard to reconcile that Felix – that surly boy who constantly demanded her time for training even though he wasn’t her student, _that_ Felix – has a soulmate in Ferdinand. Byleth’s only spoken to Ferdinand a handful of times, but he seems nice enough, if a bit… loud. It’s hard to make him and Felix fit together in her head, so she doesn’t even try.

But even in her last meeting with the other Professors and Seteth, the new soulmates had been discussed.

Byleth resists the urge to press her hand to her arm, where her own name is held secret.

Instead, she swallows down her surprise – because perhaps she should have expected this – and says evenly, “I’m sure there’s nothing I can tell you that you don’t already know.”

Hilda pouts. “Professor, that’s no fun.”

“We’re not here for fun. Now, I’d like to get back to–“

“Professor!” Leonie interjects loudly. “Does Captain Jeralt have a soulmark?”

Once again Byleth’s mouth drops open in surprise. So far, she’s never heard anyone come straight out and _ask_ like this, although she’s been prepared for the possibility. Even then, she’d expected someone to ask her about her own soulmark, not her father’s.

Lorenz makes a sound full of offended sensibility at Leonie daring to come out and ask such a personal question.

“He– uh–“ She flounders, not sure what to say, and that only seems to make it worse, because suddenly everyone is fascinated by her reaction.

For some reason her eyes meet Claude’s. He’s sitting in the front row, like a good house leader, and he’s watching her with a very intent expression. Byleth suddenly feels very exposed.

She clears her throat and gathers herself. “That’s his business, Leonie, and no one else's.”

Leonie scowls and slumps back in her chair. “I was just curious. Everyone makes such a big deal out of them.”

“I have one,” Raphael proclaims proudly, chest puffing out. “She has such a pretty name – Jasmin – and I can’t wait to meet her. I hope she’s a good cook.”

Byleth blinks. “That’s–“

She’s interrupted by Lorenz. “As a noble, I believe it is best to keep one’s soulname to themselves until the time is right. And even then, perhaps never to speak of it at all.”

She’s getting a headache. “That’s not–“

“What do you mean, _never speak of it_?” Hilda turns in her seat to look at Lorenz, who raises his chin at her.

“Hilda, dearest, we are nobles. We must do what is right for our house, first and foremost.”

Hilda snorts in reply, in a decidedly ignoble manner.

Claude remains quiet, but his eyes remain watching Byleth.

“That’s silly!” Raphael is very loud in his reply, and Byleth lets out a long breath through her nose. “Your soulmate is your soulmate, why are you making it more complicated?”

Lorenz sniffs. “You cannot understand–“

“Enough,” Byleth interrupts sharply. Thankfully it’s enough to stop Lorenz talking, who turns to her with wide eyes. She never speaks this sharply, even during training, and the class shifts in discomfort. Modulating her tone, Byleth continues, “As I said, there is nothing I can teach any of you about soulmarks. Discuss it in your own time; we won’t be talking about them here. _Now_ –“ she turns back to the chalkboard, blinking as she tries to remember where she’d been in her lecture before the interruption. “Single envelopment, as seen during the well documented battle at Hyrm in 523 involves–“ She turns back to the class as speaks, once more catching Claude’s eye. His expression makes her falter over her words, just for a second.

The name on her arm pulses, and as she recovers from her stumble, Byleth presses her hand to it, just briefly, without even realising.

***

Claude smiles through his teatimes with Byleth, asking questions about her life that she dutifully answers – mostly, anyway, as she doesn’t seem to remember a whole lot about her childhood, and while it’s strange he doesn’t think she’s lying. He still does not bring up soulmarks or soulmates with her, and neither does she. But he doesn’t forget that time in the classroom, that time when he saw her lose her composure for the first time – twice in the span of only a few minutes.

Her stumble over Leonie’s question about her father’s soulmark makes Claude suspect that Jeralt has one. That’s interesting, sure, but what he cares about more is that stumble a few moments later, when she’d caught his eye and pressed her hand to the inside of her left arm, above her elbow.

Claude catalogues the parts of Byleth he has seen. Her face – and it is truly the unfortunate that have soulmarks on their face – and her neck. The distracting cut out of her cleavage or stomach that is sometimes on display in that one top he tries not to think about. Most of her legs – because those equally distracting tights are partially opaque – and her forearms, sleeves pulled up to the elbows.

He lingers over each glimpse of flesh, wondering if a soulmark has ever been hinted around the edge of her clothes, but he knows there’s been nothing. He watches her too closely, he would have seen. That leaves her back, parts of her stomach, her backside, her chest – and here in his mental list, Claude has to pause, because he is only human – and her upper arms. What statistics that have been gathered around soulmarks suggest that arms are the most common place they appear.

The discovery of the library in Abyss delights him, because here there is knowledge that he’s never found anywhere else.

Unfortunately, that delight soon turns sour, because there’s nothing particularly helpful to his current goal. Using magic on soulmarks never ends well, and the wording in the book makes Claude think of the Tower of Conrad, when Sylvain’s crestless brother had picked up that relic and turned into a monster. There are discussions of potions that can be made, forcing a soulmark to be revealed, or the bond to form even if the two are far apart, but as he studies the ingredient lists, Claude has to scoff, because all he’d succeed in doing is giving Teach a serious case of the runs.

Just because a book is old, he thinks with dark amusement, doesn’t mean it’s reliable.

***

Byleth wonders what it’s like for people who have met their soulmates. Surreptitiously, she watches Felix – now transferred into her class to better demand she make time to train with him – and Ferdinand, and Caspar and Linhardt.

And then she wonders about everyone with a mark who hasn’t met their soulmates. There are some, like her and her father, who are careful never to reveal their marks. Long sleeves always carefully kept down to cover the name, even when training under the hot sun. Those who carefully time their baths and avoid the sauna. It’s considered impolite to press about a person’s soulmark, but there are still those that would try to see, especially if they thought it would give them an advantage – like over a future king or duke or emperor.

Byleth still has no idea if Dimitri, Claude, or Edelgard have soul marks. They, like her, keep that knowledge close to their chests. Even when her class had questioned her, Claude had remained silent.

Then there are those actively looking for their soulmate, name displayed proudly on their skin, their longing clear when they talk about the person they hope to meet soon.

And then there are those with no soul marks, and are either jealous or pitying of those who do.

And then there’s the likes of Sylvain, exceedingly proud of his lack of soulmark. He tells her once, during one particularly fraught conversation, that he’s still going to be forced into an arranged marriage but at least this way he can fuck who he wants and know there’s not one person out there waiting for him.

“Having a crest is bad enough, Professor,” he’d told her, eyes glinting in anger, “having a soulmark is another prison.” His eyes roam down her body. “Do you have one? Would you let me find it? I can make you forget about them.”

She doesn’t give him an answer.

The truth is, Byleth never put much thought into her soulmate before she’d come to Garreg Mach. The name has been on her arm for as long as she can remember. She kept it hidden, because that’s what her father had told her to do, but she’s never been able to conjure up an image of what her soulmate might look like, or what he might be like. _Khalid_ meant nothing to her.

And that’s never bothered her before.

But now…

_Now, it seems to be all you think about._

Byleth is long used to hearing Sothis in her head, so the sudden interjection doesn’t startle her any longer.

“I think…” Byleth begins, thinking deeply on what’s been bothering her so much. “I think it’s because I’ve never had a friend, so I don’t understand how I can have a soulmate.”

Sothis is silent for a long moment. _I don’t truly see what one has to do with the other, and anyway_ – impatience enters her voice – _I am sure some of the little ones consider you a friend and not just a teacher._

“Perhaps,” Byleth answers, thinking of the meals she’s shared with Raphael, how Marianne is beginning to come out of her shell, the snacks Lysithea brings her, the way Claude smiles at her sometimes…

 _Sometimes_ she thinks she can feel someone tracing the lines of the name on her skin – a gentle finger brushing over the looping letters, making her shiver with something she can’t quite understand. But she doesn’t know if she’s imagining it, if she’s wishing for something that isn’t there.

She doesn’t quite know how to deal with or even name the desire inside her, but that’s what it is, some kind of _desire_.

***

If she’s his soulmate, what makes her his soulmate?

Claude sometimes wonders if he’s torturing himself with these thoughts, but he cannot help but dwell on them as each day passes and he gets no closer to answers. In fact, this monastery only continues to serve up more mysteries, be it about Byleth, the Archbishop, or Crests, or the Church itself.

His parents didn’t have soulmarks, and yet both of them fought hard to be with each other – and to stay with each other. Claude doesn’t think their bond is any less strong just because they lack a soulmark, though he knows there are people who view non soulmate couplings as inferior.

That’s not an opinion he agrees with.

He watches Byleth, seeking her out less often now since she has the Sword of the Creator, envy and suspicion making him more wary than usual. During their missions, he admires the way she takes charge and keeps them all safe. Admires the way she fights, her strength, and her ability. Can see, despite how stoic she often looks, just how much she cares for all of them – including him.

And yet still, he cannot trust her. Not when the Archbishop gets a strange gleam in her eyes whenever she looks at Byleth, and not when he still has no idea if his name is hidden somewhere on her body. Not when she has a mysterious Crest and a sword that can cut through mountains.

 _If I asked you_ , he ponders, watching her fishing by the pond on one of her free days, _would you answer?_

If his name is there – on her arm, her back, somewhere else – how could it make him trust her in that moment? How does he know he’s simply not giving another person something to use against him; his own name, that he holds closer to his heart these days than even the one on his skin. His _identity_. How can he trust this woman with his dream?

How can _she_ trust _him_?

It’s a hot day, and the sun is beaming down in the way Claude likes best, chasing away the chill that always seems to linger around the monastery. As much as he’d like to bask in it, he has work to do.

“Teach.” He approaches her with an amiable expression, and she looks up at him expectantly.

“Claude,” she responds, tilting her head to the side. “Have you come to fish?”

“‘Fraid not.” He eyes the water, glittering under the sunlight. “I’m more inclined to hunt than fish.”

She pulls her empty rod up and sets it down beside her. “Then, have you come to ask me more questions?”

He smiles, an edge to it. “Ah, you think you’ve figured me out?”

Byleth shakes her head, and stands up. “Not really. I still don’t know why you think I’m so interesting. How can I help you?”

“I know it’s your free day, but I was hoping to get some training in. I want to practice my axe skills more.”

Her nod at that is approving. “I don’t mind. Shall we go now?”

“Sure thing. You’re the best, Teach.”

He’s a little disappointed that she doesn’t smile at that, just gives a curt nod and begins striding away. With a quirk of his brow at her retreating back, Claude follows, and they make their way in silence to the training grounds.

It’s nearly empty when they get there, with only Felix and a handful of the knights training. Felix, upon seeing Claude with her, doesn’t break from his own routine, obviously realising that she isn’t available.

Byleth goes straight to the racks and pulls out two of the training axes, and Claude prepares himself as she hands him one. She’s been his teacher long enough for him to know how tough her training sessions are. He unbuttons the jacket of his uniform and shrugs it off, quickly followed by his long sleeved shirt, leaving himself in a loose, sleeveless undershirt.

She’s watching him. “It’s pretty hot, Teach, don’t want to overheat.”

Conceding this with a nod, Byleth pulls off her long coat, and Claude is both pleased and disappointed to see she’s wearing the cutout top that constantly runs through his mind. The sleeves are long enough to cover her upper arms, but the glimpse of flesh on display is still distracting.

He looks away, pushing thoughts like that out of his mind, reminding himself that he _can’t_ let himself get distracted by things like that.

Byleth doesn’t seem to notice, picking up her axe again and weighing it in her hand, thoughtful. “Actually,” she says, “would you prefer me to use a sword or an axe?”

“Sword,” he promptly replies without thinking. Better practice should he ever have to face her in a real battle.

Not questioning his decision, Byleth swaps out her weapon, and then they begin. Claude knows he won’t win, but he gives it his all anyway – she definitely seems to notice when he doesn’t and he doesn’t like the disappointed look she gets when it happens.

Training like this under the hot sun makes him feel surprisingly nostalgic.

And then the thought comes to him suddenly, unbidden; what might Byleth be like under the hot Almyran sun? Her clothes light and airy. Her skin pinking and then going golden under the sun. Her hair in a braid, a colourful ribbon threaded through it. Standing by his side.

He shakes the thoughts away as she swipes his legs out under him, forcing him to yield yet again.

Reaching out, Byleth extends a hand to help him up. Claude wishes they weren’t wearing gloves. “You’re distracted,” she states. “What’s wrong?”

 _You_.

“It’s so hot, Teach,” he says, with an insincere smile. “Hard to focus.”

She _hmms_ like she doesn’t quite believe him, but seems disinclined to call him out, probably because she’s wiping sweat away from her brow and can’t disagree with his words. “It is,” she finally acquiesces. “Do you want to keep going or call it a day?”

Briefly, Claude considers. The heat is obviously getting to her too, but she’s willing to stick it out if that’s what he wants. “Actually, I’d like to talk some more. Why don’t we go to the sauna?”

“The _sauna_?” The incredulity in her voice is cute.

“Sure. Different kind of sweating. It’ll be good before going for a bath. And we can talk there.”

There’s a crease between her brow as she stares at him. There’s a part of her that wants to say no, Claude realises. But he’s confident that she won’t, and feels a flare of satisfaction when she finally nods and turns away to put away their weapons.

“I’ll… I’ll meet you there, then,” she says with a flicker of uncertainty.

Claude shoves away the prickle of guilt. Locks it up tight as he makes his way to sauna and peels himself out of his sticky clothes and changes into the sauna clothes, grimacing at his own sweaty body that’s going to get a whole lot sweatier soon.

The sauna is empty, much to his relief, and he wanders over to the coals, increasing the steam in the room.

“Claude?”

Turning at Byleth’s voice, he replies, “Here, Teach.”

He takes her in, eyes narrowing in annoyance.

Sleeves, again. His eyes zero in on her left arm, the one she’d touched before. She’d touched it like he sometimes touches the name on his chest.

_Who is your soulmate, Byleth?_

He forces away the annoyance like he’d forced away the guilt, and takes a seat near her, watching at the graceful way she pulls her hair up and off her neck and secures it with a tie. His eye follows down her neck, to the sweaty shirt clinging to her breasts–

And he turns away, facing ahead, cursing himself for this stupid scheme.

“I don’t think I’m going to be able to stay in here long,” Byleth admits. “But what did you want to talk about?”

Despite his efforts, some of his frustration leaks through. “The Sword of the Creator.”

Byleth sighs, and he watches her from the corner of his eye. She’s looking at him, her lips downturned slightly. “I’ve told you all that I know – what Hannerman told me. I didn’t know I had a Crest.”

“I believe you.”

“Then what–“

“I just keep thinking about the legends, Teach. The sword that can cut through mountains.” He turns to her, giving her a wink through the steam. She flushes, but he thinks it’s due to the heat. “How do you feel about taking a trip to the Throat with that sword and widening it?”

She keeps watching him, thoughtful now. Looking at him like _she’s considering it_.

His heart beats faster.

“That would certainly be a challenge,” she eventually responds, speaking slowly. “But I’d be worried about the wyverns who live in the mountains.”

“…the wyverns,” he repeats flatly.

Byleth nods. “I remember once, looking at them flying above us when we were in… it must have been near the Throat.” Her brow creases as she tries to remember. “I don’t remember. But my father told me that the mountains are full of wild wyverns. I do remember being disappointed when he said we couldn’t go see them…” She trails off and looks away, something Claude is glad about because it takes him a moment to get his expression under control.

Whatever he’d thought Byleth would say, he hadn’t expected her to start talking so earnestly about _wyverns_.

“Have you ever flown?” he manages to get out, eventually.

She shakes her head. “I always wanted to learn.”

“You should,” Claude blurts out. “Even the Professors are encouraged to learn, here.”

Byleth turns her face back towards him and _smiles_. For the first time, she _smiles_. And when she speaks, she sounds far more animated than he’s ever heard her before. “I never thought of that before… thank you, Claude. I think I will.”

He can only nod in reply, uncharacteristically speechless when faced with a smiling Byleth Eisner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter count might end up increasing slightly...
> 
> Felix/Ferdinand was basically me throwing darts at random characters for a crack ship and then getting into the idea.


	3. White Clouds - part 2

Byleth takes to flying quickly, enjoying the feeling of freedom it gives her. Her flying lessons become sometime she looks forward to, especially as the months pass and the monastery grows more troubled. Flayn’s kidnapping and the Death Knight leave a sombre atmosphere around the monastery, even after she is rescued and joins the Golden Deer.

Claude begins to join her on her flying lessons, saying he needs the practice for his own certifications, but it’s immediately obvious to Byleth that he’s more than familiar with wyverns. Even the trainer regards Claude with approval.

“Mister von Riegan is a natural,” he gushes. “Professor, make note of his seat. Perfect!”

Byleth glances over to Claude, sitting on his own wyvern. Her eyes trail over his thighs and backside and linger there as she tries to adjust her posture to match his.

“Looking good, Teach,” he says, and she raises her gaze up to his face, suddenly feeling slightly embarrassed to have been looking at him so closely. Claude goes on, “Sit up a little straighter.”

She does so, and the wyvern underneath her makes a sound.

“She’s pleased,” Claude says. “They’re clever. She’ll trust you if you trust her.”

“Very astute,” the trainer thrills.

Byleth keeps staring at Claude. Distantly, she’s aware of Sothis’s exasperation.

“Is my face really that interesting, Teach?” Claude may have a sly smile playing about his lips, but Byleth doesn’t miss the flush spreading across his cheeks.

She looks away, suddenly flustered and not understanding _why_ , and – pointedly ignoring Sothis – pays attention only to the trainer for the rest of the lesson.

With the upcoming Battle of the Eagle and Lion, spirits lift across the monastery as a friendly rivalry springs up between the houses – most notably between the Black Eagles and the Blue Lions.

“Think they’ll regret underestimating us?” Claude asks her a week before the battle. He and a few other of the Golden Deer are lounging around the classroom after lessons.

Byleth meets his eyes, ignoring – as she always does – the jolt that runs through her. “Yes.” Her Deer have come a long way, and she’s confident in them.

Claude smiles at that. She thinks it’s genuine. “Such a simple answer. I appreciate that about you, Teach.”

“An admirable attitude, to be sure,” says Lorenz. “I look forward to bringing victory to the Golden Deer and the Leicester Alliance.”

“It’s a group effort, Lorenz,” Byleth admonishes gently. “We work together.”

Abashed, Lorenz nods. “Of course, Professor.”

“How do you think Felix feels about it?” Leonie asks. “He’s from Faerghus, after all.”

Byleth shrugs. “I don’t think he cares.”

“A strange attitude for a future Duke to have,” Lorenz sniffs. His eyes cut to Claude, and Byleth just knows he’s going to make some comment about Claude’s own eccentricities, so she makes a pointed effort to change the subject.

.

They win the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, along with the prize, and Byleth looks on proudly as her students celebrate. The other two houses join, rivalries seemingly forgotten, and a party atmosphere falls over the dining hall.

It warms her to see everyone together like this, and she turns to leave with a smile on her face.

Claude catches up with her not far from her room, looking rather serious.

“Is everything alright?” Byleth asks.

He nods. “Quite a battle, wasn’t it?”

Turning to face him batter, she hums in agreement. “Everyone worked well. I’m proud of you all.”

With a short laugh into his fist, Claude looks beyond her for a moment. “Are you really always this sincere?”

She considers the question, before replying slowly, “I never learned to be otherwise.”

“It’s quite a contrast to how you are on the battlefield. You might rival me for the sneaky tactics.”

“That’s different,” Byleth shrugs.

“I suppose it is.” His eyes find her face again, searching. For what, she has no idea.

She wants to step closer to him.

“If I’m being honest… I’d hate to have you as an enemy, Teach. If possible, I wish for you to fight by my side.”

Byleth isn’t sure what to make of that. She can’t imagine ever being Claude’s enemy. And as for the second part of his statement…

“You sound like you’re offering me job.”

His lips quirk upwards, but there’s little mirth in it. “Not quite. Just a thought.”

The urge to move closer – to reach out and place a hand on his arm in comfort – becomes even stronger, but Byleth resists it. Instead, she takes a step back, feeling a sudden swirl of confusion inside her that seems to appear often when Claude is around. “Well… I’d be happy to fight by your side, Claude,” she says, honest even through her uncertainty.

“Would you? You’d choose to?”

Made more uncertain by Claude’s sudden intensity, Byleth can only nod in reply. A moment later he also steps back, looking like he’s forcing himself to relax.

“That’s certainly food for thought,” he mutters, his hand unconsciously twisting into his shirt, right over his heart.

Byleth finds herself growing a little concerned. “Are you alright, Claude?

The hand drops, and Claude blinks. “Yeah. Yeah, Teach, I think so.”

“Good. You should get back to the feast. Enjoy your time with your friends.” She smiles faintly at him, despite feeling out of her depth in this entire conversation. “I’ll see you in the morning? For wyvern practice?”

He nods. “See you then, Teach. Good night.”

She doesn’t step away. She doesn’t _want_ to. Why is she so drawn to Claude? He’s quick and clever and – _handsome_ , Sothis supplies, but Byleth ignores that – caring, in his own way. But he’s distant and secretive and sometimes looks at her the same way he does when he’s calculating a complicated chess strategy.

Silence stretches between them as they both look at each other, neither one moving. Energy builds between them until Byleth’s tongue darts out to wet her dry lips.

She doesn’t miss how Claude’s eyes darken as he watches.

Eventually, she moves, feet feeling like lead. “Good night, Claude,” she whispers, and turns away, marching to her room.

Once she’s safely inside, Byleth closes the door and leans against it. She raises a hand to her neck, feeling her pulse fluttering wildly.

“Why….” she mutters, raising her eyes to Sothis, who is hovering on the opposite side of the room, looking unimpressed.

_Can you truly not figure it out?_ she asks, arch.

***

Claude watches Byleth leave, his heart thundering. He doesn’t move until long after Byleth has disappeared inside her room.

He wants to march right after her and ask. Find out where his name is on her body and kiss her.

_If_ his name is on her body, he keeps telling himself. _If_.

Eventually, he forces himself to move away. But he’s no longer in the mood for company, and he’s too restless to sleep. Instead he wanders until he’s on the bridge leading towards the cathedral. There, he stops, and looks up at the stars that so often have brought him comfort.

But he doesn’t find any tonight.

His thoughts meander back to a point he finds difficult to move past.

Byleth is too perfect. Claude can’t trust that. What if she somehow knows about his soulmark and she’s pretending to be the way she is for… for Rhea? For _someone_?

How else can she stand in front of him and say _I’d be happy to fight by your side, Claude_. No conditions attached. Just…

_I’d be happy_ …

… _to fight by your side_.

Leaning onto the stone wall, Claude drops his head into his hands and groans.

.

Claude hadn’t planned on dancing with Byleth at the ball.

In fact, as much as he loves parties and feasts, he can’t help but feel like the timing of this ball isn’t great. What they’d seen at Remire is still recent, and weighs heavily on everyone.

Though as he watches Hilda and Marianne talking and smiling, he reconsiders. Perhaps something like this _is_ needed.

He knows he’s expected to pick a partner and open the ball, dancing alongside Dimitri and Edelgard. And he knows he’s expected to pick another student.

Instead, like there’s a thread tugging him to her, he strides across the ballroom and pulls Byleth out onto the dance floor. Her eyes widen comically, but she doesn’t pull away or break out of his hold, and Claude knows well how easily she could do that if she wished.

She does hiss out his name as he leads her towards the centre of the room, though, her tone letting him know she isn’t really happy with this. When he stops and turns, getting in the correct position – one hand holding hers, the other on her waist – he’s surprised to see the start of a blush dusting across her cheeks, her eyes darting around the room.

“Look at me, Teach,” he says softly, and she does, her gaze heavy as it settles on him.

“Claude, why–“

“Put your other hand on my shoulder,” he interrupts, and though Byleth huffs lightly at his demand, she does as he says.

“Perhaps,” she says dryly, “you should have picked someone who knows how to dance.”

His eyebrow quirks up. “Where would be the fun in that?”

The music picks up then, and Claude smoothly starts moving, falling perfectly in time with Edelgard and Dimitri. He hides his smile as Byleth’s eyes widen again, her movements stiff and awkward as she tries to follow him.

After a moment of watching Byleth’s face crunched up in conversation, Claude asks, “You’ve never danced before?”

She only shakes his head, brows furrowing.

Claude bites back another smile, though a moment later he’s grimacing as the hand holding his begins to tighten painfully.

“Teach, I need that hand. Can’t shoot a bow without it.”

Her eyes, which had been on their feet, snap back to his. That blush returns. “Sorry,” she mutters, loosening her grip, and Claude takes the opportunity to spin her.

It’s only a little awkward, but when he pulls her back to him, she’s smiling, at least.

This time, he smiles back. “Not so bad, right?”

Byleth shakes her head, and gives a little laugh. “I suppose it’s okay.” She pauses. “You’re good, though.”

“Why, thank you, Teach. I took the time to learn even though these stuffy dances aren’t quite my style.”

“What is your style?” Byleth asks, curious.

Claude wonders how to describe to her the dances they have back home; how full of life they are, especially compared to this sedate dance they’re currently working their way through.

When he thinks of dancing, he thinks of colour and fire and life.

He can’t describe that to her. At least, he can’t without the risk of giving something away. So instead he answers in a light voice, “Maybe I’ll show you some day.”

“I hope you will.” And there it is again, that genuine expression and earnest tone. The one that means he has to look away from her face because it makes him want to spill every one of his secrets, and that’s dangerous.

Despite that thought, he clutches Byleth’s hand tighter, wishing they weren’t both wearing gloves.

He tries to laugh it off, to make himself sound breezy, like she has no effect on him.

He entirely fails.

***

Byleth is having tea with her father in his office. He’s being more reticent than usual, something clearly bothering him, and they’ve been sitting in mostly silence while she waits for him to say whatever it is that’s on his mind.

Eventually, Jeralt asks, voice low, “Is it bothering you?”

The sudden question makes Byleth pause, frowning at the intense expression on his face. She sees that he’s looking at her arm and then realises that she’s been pressing her hand to her soulmark and frowns, dropping her hand.

“No.” Her reply is automatic, and it’s not quite the truth.

Jeralt’s question has left her feeling unsettled, though. She watches as he lapses back into silence, sipping at his tea as he watches her.

That’s the first time he’s mentioned her soulmark since it appeared. What age had she even been then?

_What age is she now?_

She thinks of the grave her father can often be found out. The one where her mother is buried.

“You said that one day you’d tell me about your soulmark.”

Jeralt sets his teacup heavily down on its saucer and runs a hand down his face. “I did, didn’t I?”

Byleth sits up, deciding that they’re going to have this conversation now. Her father has a kept a lot from her, that has become startlingly clear, and now she deserves some answers.

“Was it my mother?”

“Sitri.” Jeralt breathes the name out reverently, looking up from his teacup to meet Byleth’s gaze. “Yeah. She was my soulmate.” He pulls off his glove and pulls back the sleeve of his shirt, and with only a slight hesitation, extends his arm so Byleth can see the delicate script, faded since her death, across his wrist showing her mother’s name.

She blinks, something welling up in her. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Jeralt sighs. “She had my name across her collarbone, pretty as anything. I couldn’t believe it, when I finally found her.” His voice goes distant, his eyes sliding away. But he keeps his arm outstretched until Byleth leans back in her chair, and then he quickly covers his wrist back up again, making Byleth fully realise just how careful he’s been to never let anyone see this all these years.

“She was so kind and gentle. So…” He sighs again. “You’re a bit like her in some ways, kid. She often found it difficult to express what she was feeling.”

Byleth leans forward again, engrossed, suddenly desiring to hear everything about her mother. Whatever Jeralt sees on her face, it makes him smile.

“She loved flowers,” he went on. “All kinds, though forget-me-nots were her favourite. She loved reading too. Any kinds of stories. She was never able to leave the monastery, so she–“

“The monastery?” Byleth doesn’t mean to interrupt but for some reason that detail sticks out for her. Her mother is buried here, of course, but she hadn’t known Sitri had spent her whole _life_ here.

“Ah. Yeah.” Jeralt glances at the closed door to his office. “Look, Byleth, I promise I tell you more about her, but just not… here.”

Byleth is disappointed. ”But–“

“I’m sorry kid.” His voice lowers. “But not so close to Rhea.”

It’s only the contrite expression on Jeralt’s expression that allows Byleth to force back her frustration. But it’s still hard to do.

She’s never felt it this strongly before, and she finds herself glaring down at her cup of tea, her appetite gone.

.

_I do wonder_ , Sothis says later, _about how reticent your father is to discuss certain things. It’s difficult to imagine the basis of his distrust._

Byleth only shrugs in response. She’s alone in her room, so she can respond if she wants, but she’s still unsettled and grumpy and hopes that sleep will make her feel better.

_He is correct in that you touch your soulmark often these days._

Sighing, Byleth sits heavily at her desk.

“I don’t understand…” she begins, and then stops.

_What?_ Sothis prompts, impatient. _Come now, speak. It is unbecoming to begin speaking like that and then stop!_

But Byleth simply shakes her head as she stands up to get ready for bed, pulling off her clothes, uncaring about where they land.

When her arms are bare, she inspects the name on her skin.

Perhaps she should have told her father that she _is_ more aware of her soulmark these days.

But…

She’s more aware of _everything_. There’s emotions rising in her that she can’t name and isn’t sure how to deal with. This is probably just another aspect of all that.

Sothis floats closer. _Ah, your soulmark! You’re like your father, never showing it at all._ _I wonder what your Khalid looks like._

Frowning, Byleth tries to conjure up an image of what her soulmate might look like, coming up blank. She traces her finger along the letters of the name, something she hasn’t done since she was a child.

_I expect you’ll want him to be handsome_ , Sothis goes on.

Claude’s face appears in her mind.

Byleth drops her hand from the name on her skin like she’s been burnt, trying to banish the thought.

But it lingers, never quite going away.

At least, not until her father dies, and then there’s no room for anything inside her except grief.

***

Jeralt’s journal is fascinating. Claude pours over each page – especially the ones talking about Byleth’s birth and the aftermath.

There are answers in here, he knows. The problem is, he’s still trying to figure out all the questions.

And the problem _is_ , he can’t get as engrossed in the diary as he’d like, because Byleth’s face keeps appearing in his mind.

She’d looked exhausted, curled up in a chair in her father’s office, clutching the journal. When Claude had asked for it, she’d handed it over but…

He blinks as the words in front of him blur from tiredness.

She’d looked so tired. Defeated. _Lost_.

His hand presses over his heart.

Her eyes had remained on the journal even after Claude had taken it, something almost primal in them, like she might snatch it out of his hands again at any second.

Claude leans forward, resting his forehead against the edge of his desk.

He feels guilty.

Should he? He’d asked, and she’d given it to him.

_Yes_ , he think to himself. He should feel guilty. He knows damn well that if she’d said no he’d have tried to convince her and if that hadn’t worked, he’d have found some way to get it into his hands. In that moment he’d been so caught up in getting his answers that he hadn’t considered how what he was doing would make her feel.

And now Teach is probably sitting in her room, on her own. Without even her father’s journal to give her comfort in her time of loss.

Sitting back in his chair, Claude swears quietly to himself in Almyran before standing up, tucking the journal under his arm and making for the door.

But then he stops.

It’s late. The monastery is silent. There’s a strict curfew in the wake of Jeralt’s death, and a heavy guard presence is patrolling each night.

It’s probably not the best time to go knocking at Byleth’s door.

.

Instead, he goes early the next morning after hardly getting any sleep. But he leaves the journal in his room, safely hidden.

There’s no answer when he knocks on her room door. Claude listens carefully, but all seems silent inside.

She’s hardly been seen outside her room since Jeralt died. So she could be sleeping. Or ignoring him.

But he doesn’t think Byleth would do that, so he makes his way across the monastery, expecting to find her at her parent’s grave.

The area is empty.

Claude turns around, considering. It’s still too early for breakfast to be served, so…

That leaves either the lake for some early fishing, or the training grounds. He ponders it for a moment before deciding that he’s pretty sure it’ll be the latter.

She’s the only one in the training grounds when he arrives. Not even Felix is there. Claude sidles in, watching her attack a training dummy with reckless aggression. She’s clearly been here for a while, judging by the sweat dripping down her face and the broken training sword on the ground.

He knows she’s aware of his presence, but she completely ignores him, going at the dummy like it’s personally wronged her. Claude watches nearby, remaining silent, a mix of admiration for her form and guilt running through him.

When she stops, chest heaving, she finally speaks, although she doesn’t look over at him. “What do you want, Claude?” Byleth asks, sounding tired.

For some reason the question prickles at him, like he could only be here because he _wants_ something.

Except she has every right to feel that way, doesn’t she?

He steps closer. “I came to see how you’re doing. We can do some training, if you like.”

“No.” Her voice is soft. “I need to go clean up. I told Seteth I’d start taking classes again today.”

Claude thinks this might be the first time she’s ever refused him like that. He watches as she lets out a long breath before picking up the broken sword on the ground and moving towards the weapon racks. He follows.

“Teach, can I ask you something?”

She tenses at his words, but nods, still not looking at him.

“Why did you give me Jeralt’s notebook?”

He can see how she tenses further, and is reminded how she is in battle, a coiled spring that’s deadly when it’s unleashed. But nothing is unleashed now, and she stays quiet as she puts the intact sword away and disposes of the broken one.

When she walks towards the entrance, Claude thinks she might leave without answering. “Teach?”

Byleth stops at the doors, and finally looks at him with eyes that are heavy and sad. “I gave it to you because I want you to trust me.”

Her words pierce straight through him, making his heart jolt and his soulmark burn. Without realising it, Claude steps forward, reaching out a hand to touch her, the sudden realisation and honest words of _I do trust you_ on his lips–

But she’s already turned away, leaving him standing alone in the training grounds.

***

Byleth finds it somehow both easier and more difficult to be back teaching. It helps in one way, because it distracts her from her thoughts and stops her reliving the moment of her father’s death over and over again, always wondering if she might have done something. No matter how many times Sothis tells her there was nothing she could have done, Byleth still hasn’t quite accepted that.

And being around her students helps, as does getting back into the routine of teaching. So Byleth throws herself into it while she waits for an opportunity to get her chance for revenge.

But… it’s also worse, because it makes the times she _is_ alone seem harder to deal with. Not even Sothis is a comfort, and Byleth lies awake most nights, torturing herself over what she’s lost, the answers she’ll never get.

She’d give anything to hear her father’s voice again.

And it’s also worse, because Claude seems distant.

Or, perhaps, she’s the one being distant.

Maybe it’s even both of them. He watches her like he always does, but they don’t speak beyond what’s necessary. It’s like his request for Jeralt’s journal has made a chasm appear between them.

He’d hurt her, when he’d asked for it. When it seemed like that’s _all_ he cared about. It had wounded her deeply. Byleth had thought they were friends.

She’d meant it when she told him she wanted him to trust her, but she can’t help but wonder now if that will happen. Claude feels further away than ever, and the thought of that makes her feel dreadfully lonely, even when she’s surrounded by people.

.

It’s not until Claude rushes to find her and tell her that her father’s killers have been spotted in the sealed forest near the monastery does Byleth begin to think their friendship might be repaired, and the chasm between them can be crossed.

What’s more, he stands by her side and convinces Rhea to let her take the Golden Deer and stage an attack.

“…the only person who can take action now also happens to be our best commander. It's Teach, and wherever Teach leads, we'll follow.”

He’s talking so earnestly and Byleth can only stare in slight amazement. Does he mean this?

“The Deer should be waiting at the entrance. I got Hilda to round them up.” Claude speaks in a low voice as they swiftly make their way through the monastery.

Byleth nods, but she comes to a sudden stop, making Claude pause and turn to her incredulously.

“Teach, we have to keep moving.”

She doesn’t ask him what she really wants to ask. Instead she just says softly, “Thank you, Claude, for you help.”

He blinks, and a flicker of something crosses his face. “Of course, Teach. I told you that we’d all help you in this. We have your back.”

“You have my back,” she repeats.

“Of course.” There’s no reason to doubt him. His face is open as he looks at her, and Byleth would give anything to know what he’s thinking.

Claude holds out his hand. “So, shall we?”

Byleth blinks, for a moment transported back to when they’d danced together, something that had been altogether confusing and wonderful. With a deep breath, she takes his hand, and a small smile crosses his face.

Something inside her eases.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

***

They’re too far away to help Byleth.

And as Claude watches her get caught up in that dark magic and disappears – _disappears_ – he wheezes in a painful breath and claws his hand across his chest.

_Byleth_.

Hilda glances at him, concerned, before stepping in front of him, shielding him slightly from the dark mage.

A tentative hand on his arm and a swirl of faith magic bring him back to himself. He turns to find Marianne looking at him worriedly, her eyes on the hand on his chest.

“Are you having trouble breathing?” she asks.

Claude shakes his head, forcing his hand to drop.

They say you feel it when your soulmate dies, whether you’ve met them or not. That the pain can be excruciating. And then the ink fades or even sometimes disappears.

Claude takes a deep breath and straightens his back, readying his bow. “I’m fine, Marianne,” he assures her, focusing on the dark mage.

It becomes clear what they have to do. Defeat him while they wait for Teach to return. He can’t even begin to think that she won’t come back.

.

When Byleth _does_ return, with seafoam hair and eyes, her lips a tight line of anger, there’s no time to talk.

It’s just as well, because Claude has no words. His breath has been stolen and his heart is thundering. His soulmark burns pleasantly and he knows, with a certainty that he can no longer ignore, that she’s his soulmate. He can’t explain it, but he knows, a solid, sure thing, like the sky above and the ground below.

This woman, who has just cut through a place that mage had called a _void of nothingness_ – she’d cut through that to come back to him. _To them_ , his mind hastily adds on.

But maybe… maybe the next time he asks her to cut down a mountain for him, she’ll say yes.

.

When Solon is defeated, Claude pulls Byleth a little away from the others, unable to stop looking at her.

And when he asks her what happened, she tells him.

A goddess. _Sothis_. Living in her head.

If it had been anyone else, Claude would have called them crazy. He thinks back to Jeralt’s diary.

“Rhea,” he breathes, locking eyes with her. “What in the world happened to you when you were a baby, Teach?”

Byleth shakes her head, her mouth again in that thin, angry line. But then she sways and staggers, and Claude only just manages to catch her before she collapses.

Alarmed, he searches for her pulse at her neck, feeling it hammering under his fingers. Her skin is clammy. “Teach?”

Her eyes are closed, and her face surprisingly serene. She looks like she’s just sleeping.

Her pulse begin to slow down, and Claude glances up to see Hilda and Marianne rush over.

“What happened?”

“I think she fainted.” Claude rearranges himself and Byleth so that her head is resting in his lap. He brushes some hair out of her face while Marianne examines her.

“She seems fine,” she murmurs. “But we should get her back to Garreg Mach quickly, just in case. We don’t know what these changes mean.” Marianne glances up at Byleth’s green hair.

“Are you going to carry her?” Hilda sounds skeptical.

Claude shoots her a droll look as he stands, carefully taking Byleth with him. “Are _you_?”

“Oh, I couldn’t _possibly_. I’d be so terrified of dropping her, you know? But Raphael might be better–“

“No,” Claude interrupts, a little more sharply than he means to. “No, I can carry her.”

Hilda raises an eyebrow. “If you’re sure.”

“I am. You go on ahead with the others and tell them to expect us. Marianne can stay with me, just in case Teach needs her.”

With a final questioning look at Claude, Hilda takes off, while Claude adjusts his grip on Byleth and moves after her, although at a slower pace.

He’s grateful that Marianne is a quiet person. Aside from asking if Claude himself is injured, she says little as they hurry back to the monastery, her focus remaining on Byleth to see if there’s any change.

It leaves Claude to stew in his own thoughts as he cradles Byleth in his arms. He wishes he was better able to enjoy the moment, but he’s too concerned about her sudden change in appearance and fainting spell for that. And he’s too preoccupied by the way his soulmark tingles, with thoughts of how it had felt when Byleth had reappeared and cut through the sky.

.

When they get back to the monastery they head straight to the infirmary.

Rhea is there alongside Manuela, and Claude doesn’t miss the way her expression lights up when she sees Byleth. It’s not just relief in her face, it’s something else that he doesn’t like.

Manuela is all business, indicating for Claude to lay her down on one of the beds. Reluctantly, he does so.

“Thank you, students,” Rhea says, though her eyes remain on Byleth’s sleeping form. “You may leave us now.”

“No”. The word is out of his mouth before he realises. But he can’t. He can’t leave her alone with Rhea. Beside him, Marianne cringes slightly.

“Claude,” Manuela admonishes him lightly, her eyes cutting to the Archbishop.

Rhea finally raises her eyes from Byleth, only a quick flash of impatience appearing before her face smooths over again. “Your protectiveness of your Professor is admirable, Claude. We will speak on what happened later. Rest assured, I will take care of her. ”

_That’s what I’m afraid of._

But he can’t stay here and argue with her. It’ll draw too much suspicion. He can’t tell them that she’s his soulmate.

But it seems so wrong to walk away. And yet he has no other choice.

And Claude hates to not have choices.

He watches Manuela take Byleth’s pulse. Manuela is here. That should be enough.

Still, as he steps back and walks out of the room with Marianne, his feet feel leaden. The mark on his chest seems to ache the further away he gets from Byleth.

“Claude?” Marianne is worried. “Are you alright?”

He glances back at the now closed door of the infirmary.

“I’m fine,” he lies.

***

The month after her transformation is a hectic one. Rhea requests her presence more often, and Byleth finds herself having awkward conversations with her over tea, with Rhea asking probing questions that Byleth shies away from.

She wants to ask Rhea about her parents, about _herself_. Find out what Rhea did to her. But Byleth hesitates, unwilling for now to let Rhea know of her suspicions.

Her soulmark seems to burn more than it ever has before, and she doesn’t know what to make of it. Sometimes it _aches_.

And yet it comforts her. With her father gone and Sothis now silent, the knowledge that her soulmate is somewhere out there makes Byleth feel a little less alone.

Claude helps, too. By unspoken agreement, they’ve moved passed the bump in their friendship that his request for her father’s journal caused. To Byleth, it seems less important now, and Claude… well, his attitude seems to have changed. She’s not sure what to make of it.

He leans in closer to her now when they talk, and his smiles are warm and touch his eyes. It makes her stomach flutter and her soulmark flare and Byleth wonders at that. If this closeness with Claude is some kind of betrayal, even if the sensations of her soulmark when he’s near feels _good_.

But sometimes it still seems like he’s holding back, like there are words on the tip of his tongue he’s not letting himself say. And Byleth, not so good with words herself, says nothing, deciding she’ll wait until he’s ready.

She doesn’t know what to think of the fact that when she thinks of her soulmate – of _Khalid_ – all she sees is Claude. It’s not right, for a number of reasons.

But still, privately, in the silence of the long nights, Byleth admits to herself that she's disappointed Claude isn’t her soulmate.

.

“Professor… do you recognise this throne?”

Byleth stares at the steps and throne she’d seen Sothis sit upon before. “I do not,” she lies, unwilling to admit anything to Rhea, especially not when she’s feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

Rhea doesn’t believe her, but brushes past it, indicating that Byleth should sit on the throne.

As she steps forward, Byleth turns her head slightly, catching Claude’s eye. He take a half step forward, like he’s going to join her, before he stops, something pained crossing his face.

Byleth wants to turn towards him and away from the throne, but she doesn’t. Instead, she takes a deep breath and ascends the steps.

When she sits upon the throne, her eyes meet Claude’s again, ignoring Rhea’s bright face. His lips are set in a grim line. Behind him, the rest of the Golden Deer look on.

Nothing happens.

Nothing happens, that is, except the Flame Emperor turns up and the tomb soon falls to the chaos of battle.

And when the mask of the Flame Emperor cracks and reveals Edelgard’s face underneath, Byleth realises with a chilling certainty that war is upon them.

***

The Imperial army is advancing on Garreg Mach and the monastery is in uproar. Many have fled, but Claude and the Golden Deer all remain. He’s not particularly interested in fighting _for_ the Church, but Claude knows they can’t let it fall. Dimitri and the Blue Lions also stay, but even with the Knights of Seiros, they all know the might of the Empire might prove to be too much.

The knowledge that Edelgard had been planning all this while still a student and _he hadn’t noticed_ rankles Claude. He and Edelgard hadn’t seen eye to eye, sure, and he’d always known there was more to her than what she showed, but _still_. Never had he expected this.

From under his eyelashes, Claude watches Byleth run through the battalion lists for the class. Is now a terrible time to ask if she has a soulmark? Or does it make all the more sense to ask now, when they’re so close to a precipice and no one knows what will happen next?

He doesn’t get a chance, as a shadow darkens the door of the classroom. War room now, Claude supposes. There's been no classes since that day in the holy tomb.

When he sees who it is, he straightens up, hand slowly moving towards the dagger he always has hidden on himself.

“Ferdinand.” Byleth rises from her chair, voice even but posture tense. “I thought you left.”

_To fight for Edelgard_ , Claude adds silently.

Ferdinand takes a deep breath. He’s wearing traveling clothes, dusty from the road. Claude's never seen him quite so unkempt before. “I… did. I–“

Claude exchanges a look with Byleth. This is _also_ the first time he’s ever heard Ferdinand lost for words. And considering how much time Ferdinand has spent around the Golden Deer due to Felix being in the class, Claude has heard Ferdinand talk _a lot_.

“He’s with me.” An impatient voice sounds from the door. It’s Felix, of course. “We've already spoken to Seteth.”

“He was just in the Empire,” Byleth says easily, nodding towards Ferdinand. “He could be a spy.” Her words echo Claude’s own thoughts.

“I am not a spy!” Ferdinand exclaims, finding his voice. Felix steps up beside him, eyes fixed on Byleth in irritation.

Byleth hums. “Why did you go back at all?”

He takes another deep breath and draws himself up tall and straight. “I thought I could speak to Edelgard. To… understand.” A troubled look crosses his face. “I am to be the future Prime Minister.” He stops, and shakes his head. “I… was, anyway. It was made clear to me that my loyalty must only be to Edelgard.”

_And not to your soulmate_ , Claude thinks. “What happened to your father?” he asks. It's been difficult for them to get news from the Empire, and he's been curious how those previously in power have taken Edelgard's manoeuvres.

“He’s been stripped of his role as Prime Minister and put under house arrest. I feared they would do the same to me. I do not know what will happen to him when it is discovered I have defected but House Aegir… I believe we have lost everything.”

Claude watches at Felix shifts closer to Ferdinand, their arms brushing together. He doesn’t do anything more than that – he doesn't even take Ferdinand's hand – but Claude knows he’s providing comfort in the only way he knows how.

He doesn’t miss how Ferdinand leans into him slightly, and he feels a flicker of jealousy.

“You came back for Felix,” Byleth states bluntly.

Felix flushes, but stands a little straighter.

Byleth continues, raising her eyebrows. “And if Felix went with you back to the Empire?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Felix snaps.

“I would not ask that of him!” Ferdinand declares passionately as Felix glares at Byleth. “Professor, I must admit that I considered requesting to transfer to your class to be closer to Felix.” Ferdinand glances at his soulmate, a fond expression crossing his face. “But he insisted it was not necessary and I thought, considering my position, it would be best to remain with the Black Eagles.”

Byleth still has a blank look on her face, but Claude knows there’s a lot going on underneath the surface. Unconsciously, he shifts closer to her, much like Felix just had to Ferdinand.

“None of this matters,” says Felix, impatient. “Seteth has given his approval for Ferdinand to stay and fight with us.”

Claude is a little surprised to hear that, but the Church does call soulmarks blessings from the Goddess. Simply being Felix’s soulmate is enough – after all, soulmates can’t betray each other.

Or so they say.

Byleth tilts her head, contemplative. “Can you tell us anything about Edelgard’s army?”

“In truth, not much,” Ferdinand admits. “I never had the confidence of Edelgard or Hubert, and after it was revealed Felix was my soulmate, I believe they trusted me even less. I can see now how much I did not notice that perhaps I should. But Professor, Claude, please believe me – I am here to fight by your side.”

Claude believes him. Not only is Ferdinand rather earnest, but it’s been clear from the start how much his soulmate meant to him. Felix is less obvious about it, but it’s there if you watch.

And Claude has watched.

Byleth scrutinises Ferdinand for a long minute and then nods. “Very well. You understand why I had to ask?”

“Of course.” Ferdinand sounds relieved.

Her tone turns gentler. “I’m more than happy to have you fight with us.” She pauses. “And I’m glad you two have found each other,” she says, almost wistfully. Her hand presses to the inside of her left arm. “Not all of us are so fortunate.”

Claude freezes, holding his breath. This is the first time she’s ever come close to mentioning her own mark.

Ferdinand’s eyebrows raise in surprise and Felix blurts out, “You have a soulmark?”

“I do,” Byleth replies, lowering her gaze to the papers in front of her.

Claude is still frozen, eyes focused on where she is obviously touching her soulmark. Where she’s touching his name. Because it has to be his name.

His heart is in his throat, thundering and roaring.

“I’m sure you will meet them someday, Professor,” Ferdinand says earnestly, voice softer than usual.

Claude swallows.

“Let’s just hope it’s not across a battlefield,” Byleth mutters. She shakes her head, raising her eyes and her voice. “It doesn’t matter, we have more important things to focus on.” She launches into a discussion with Ferdinand to figure out how best to use him on the battlefield, but Claude has mostly checked out of the conversation.

How much has Byleth thought about him, without knowing it’s him?

.

By the time they’ve finished and Felix and Ferdinand have left, Claude has gotten his bearings, thoughts skipping fast through his head. Byleth is rolling up her papers and preparing to leave – he knows she’s to report to the Knights this evening.

“My friend,” he says softly, “You’ve never mentioned your soulmate before.” He tries and mostly fails to keep the emotion of his voice.

Her eyes meet his briefly, before flitting away again. Unusual, for Byleth. She’s usually quite direct in all things.

“I was always taught to keep it to myself,” she says matter-of-factly, like that’s the end of it. Gathering all her papers under her arm, she turns to leave, but Claude steps forward, lightly touching her shoulder, and she stills.

“I was taught the same thing, you know,” he tells her.

Byleth still doesn’t look at him, but he can see the way her shoulders tense. Her tone remains even. “Probably for the best, future Duke Riegan.”

His laugh is bitter. If only she knew. He steps closer. “Aren’t you going to ask about it?”

“No.” Her answer is immediate, making him frown.

“You’re not curious at all, about my soulmate?” He can’t help but be a little offended. “You know, it’s information many people would like to have. I don’t just trust anyone with it.”

Byleth finally looks at him. But she has that blank look on her face, the one that he’s sure she uses when she’s trying to hide how she feels. Because she’s definitely feeling _something_. “Thank you,” she says, and rubs her arm again. “I’m really happy you trust me, Claude, but…” For a moment, Byleth falters. “You shouldn’t be telling me this.”

He swallows down his nerves and steps closer, brushing some of her hair behind her ears. Byleth starts at the touch, looking at him with wide eyes. “Teach, you’re the person I want to tell the most.”

Byleth steps back, away from him, taking in a long breath as she does so. “You should wait until you’ve found your soulmate.”

Claude follows her. “I _have_ found her, Teach. It’s you.”

She freezes for a moment, her face going bone white. “That’s not funny, Claude” she says in a low, angry voice. Turning her back on him, she marches towards the door.

He fumbles at his collar, knowing he has to show her. “No, Teach, _Byleth_ , wait– Let me–"

A figure appears at the doorway. “Professor Byleth, Claude. Good, you’re both here.”

Claude can’t help the tiny groan that escapes his throat at the sight of Seteth, who pauses, looking between them both curiously.

“I–“ Seteth shakes his head, obviously dismissing whatever thought he’d had at the sight of them and the obvious tension in the room. “Please, it is urgent, Professor. There is much to be done. One of our scouts has returned – the vanguard of the Empire’s army is closer than anticipated. We require you both at a meeting immediately. The battle is almost upon us.”

Byleth gives a sharp nod of her head, and doesn’t even look back at Claude as she leaves.

Frustrated by how badly this has gone, he gives it one more try. “Please, Seteth, can I just have a moment with Teach? We were discussing something important.”

“I highly doubt it was more important than this, Claude,” is Seteth’s disapproving response.

“You’d be surprised,” Claude says flatly, hurrying to catch up to Byleth. She’s already walking away, and now with Seteth, he can’t say what he wants. “Teach, look, let me explain what I meant before, I wasn’t–“

“Later,” she interrupts him curtly, shooting a glance at Seteth. It's obvious she doesn't want to have this conversation in front of him either.

He’s extremely close to just saying _my name is Khalid_ , and it’s only Seteth’s impatient glare that stops him. So, Claude pushes back his frustration. “Alright, later. You promise?”

Byleth sighs. “I promise, Claude.”

It will have to do, he supposes. Especially with an army on their doorstep.

.

If there's one thing Claude always thought he had, it's _time_. He’s spent months watching Byleth, slowly trying to figure her out and somehow along the way he’s learned to trust her. And even with graduation looming, he’d been confident that he could get Byleth by his side in Leicester. He had time – and that's what his plans and schemes need the most. His dream isn't something that can happen overnight.

He hadn’t anticipated a war, or this brutal attack on the monastery, but never – not once, not even as the monastery walls crumbled and a dragon flew above them – did Claude consider that Byleth would fall. He’s fought by her side for months. It’s inconceivable to think that she wouldn’t keep her promise to to speak later.

She’s always kept her promises.

Claude had felt it, when she fell. A sharp pain through his chest that sent him stumbling and told him that something was very wrong. He'd searched for her until he'd been forced to retreat.

But Byleth is not dead. She is missing, and he’ll continue search for her, but Claude knows she is not dead. His mark never fades.

And Byleth always keeps her promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rhea flicking through her goddess vessel creating manual when Sitri gets a soulmark: excuse me, I gotta troubleshoot this


	4. Verdant Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to [Maddy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maddy02) for checking this over for me! 💕

For five years, Claude keeps the Alliance in one piece.

Leonie describes it as being held together with spit and string, and he can’t quite disagree with the assessment, crude as it is.

But it still holds, for now. And that’s what counts. _For now_. However, it won’t be long before not even Claude can keep up this delicate balancing act, not when Gloucester is growing bolder and speaks openly of the benefits an arrangement with the Empire would bring.

_An arrangement._

Like it wouldn’t destroy Leicester just as surely as the war has destroyed most of Faerghus.

The last five years have been long and difficult, but not once has Claude lost hope that Byleth will return. He doesn’t even need to check his soulmark to know it hasn’t faded.

He just _knows_.

He’s finally found faith in something, and it’s in her.

Claude’s biggest regret is their last private conversation together, when for all his plans and clever way with words, he bumbled something so important. It shouldn’t have gone like that, and he laments that he’d hurt her, even if Byleth thinking he’d lie about something like his soulmark had hurt _him_ , even though he knows it’s the consequences of his own actions, and his need to keep his secrets.

The experience doesn’t make him inclined to share any _more_ of his secrets, though. Claude knows the others don’t understand why he’s so certain Byleth will return, but that’s fine. They’ve promised they’ll be at Garreg Mach on the agreed date, and that’s enough for him.

.

On that day, Claude flies to Garreg Mach through the night, just him and his wyvern, and carefully picks his way through the ruins of the monastery to reach the Goddess Tower. He knows Garreg Mach had fallen into disrepair over the last few years, but it still bothers him to see it.

However... it will do, for his plans. It’ll do just fine.

The monastery itself seems to be empty, but Claude knows there are bandits in the town below, and Garreg Mach has clearly been looted. 

As he steps over to one of the large open arches in the Goddess Tower, letting the warmth of the rising sun hit him, Claude decides that’s something he’ll take care of later.

After he’s reunited with Teach.

.

The sun rises higher; it looks like it will be a beautiful day. Claude’s stomach rumbles, demanding food, but still he waits.

He feels a whisper across his soulmark, like warmth breath breathing on it, like there are lips ghosting along his skin.

He closes his eyes, tilts his face up to the rising sun, and smiles.

  
  


***

  
  


For five years, Byleth has slept.

It seems impossible, because it only feels like moments since she’d been fighting – moments since she’d seen Rhea transform into a dragon.

It’s only been moments since she’d last seen Claude.

That her first thoughts upon waking are of him don’t surprise Byleth. He’s always uppermost in her thoughts these days, even when he shouldn’t be.

But five years, with a war raging? How has he fared? How are all her students?

Now, she doesn’t even know what _these days_ means.

An anxious fear settles in Byleth as she makes her to Garreg Mach, walking through what had once been a busy thoroughfare. It’s now deserted and unsettlingly still.

What if they haven’t survived? What if Claude–

Her stomach twists painfully at the thought as guilt settles in. She hasn’t been here for _five years_.

It’s not helped by her soulmark, which feels hot and pulsing, almost like a bruise – but in a strangely pleasant way. It doesn’t hurt, but it still puts her on edge, because what if it means something bad? What if, when she can bear to look at it, it’s faded, and Khalid is something else she’s lost?

.

She wanders through Garreg Mach, seeing the effects of the battle from five years ago and the neglect ever since.

The monastery is empty, eerily silent where once it had been so busy and alive.

Byleth doesn’t think much about where she's going, and her feet take her to the Goddess Tower. She pauses at the foot of the winding steps that lead up to the top, feeling more lost and alone than she ever has in her life. What she wouldn’t give to hear Sothis right now. Even her scolding would be welcome.

As she ascends, Byleth feels heavy as she wonders what she’s going to do now. Get to Derdriu? Find Claude? That has to be her first priority, she decides.

An awareness steels over her as she reaches the top of the steps, and she realises she’s not quite as alone as she’d thought. Her hand slips down to the hilt of her sword as she moves quietly up the last few steps, stepping out into the Goddess Tower, keeping herself in the shadows.

At first, she doesn’t recognise the man bathed in sunlight, but when he turns and looks at her with a smile as bright as the sun, her breath catches.

“You overslept, Teach. Pretty rude to keep a fella waiting like that, wouldn’t you say?”

_Teach?_

Cautiously – not yet quite able to believe who this could be – Byleth steps forward into the light, closer to the person who’s not quite a stranger, her hand dropping back to her side.

She sees it then, sees that the boy she’d once known is now a man. He’s – _taller_ , is her first thought as she looks up into his face, which is sharper now, and he has a beard.

He doesn’t flinch away when she reaches out to touch his face. Her hand shakes as she smoothes it over the hair that’s softer than she expected it to be. When her fingers raise higher, touching his cheek, she not only sees his smile widen, but feels it under her fingertips.

With a rush of butterflies through the pit of her stomach, Byleth realises this is the first time they’ve ever touched, skin to skin. The thought makes her dizzy, and suddenly she feels too hot.

“Claude,” she whispers.

His eyes – the same bright green as always – sparkle with warmth.

“What’s with that surprised look, my friend?” He lifts his own hand to hers, which still rests on his face. As Byleth drops it, their fingers tangle together, and as nice as the smooth leather of Claude’s gloves feels, Byleth wishes his hands were bare. He goes on. “You didn’t really think I’d given up on you coming back. Did you?”

His smile makes her soulmark flare in a flash of heat. But Byleth ignores it as she smiles back at him – hardly even registers it, really – because her mind is full of Claude and not Khalid.

.

Byleth says little as Claude leads her to the other side of the Goddess Tower and shares his food with her. She’s too busy looking at him, trying to find what’s similar and what’s different about the Claude she’d known.

His smile never really leaves his face, and he continually keeps shooting glances at her, like he’s also getting used to looking at her again. And the smile is real, and warm, and makes Byleth want to lean into him.

It makes her feel something she can’t quite name.

Claude makes up for her silence easily, filling her in on the last five years, quick to assure her that all her former students are alive and well and that he hopes they’ll see them soon.

She listens eagerly to everything he says as she watches him. It takes her a little while to see the stress he’s carrying underneath his easy demeanour. The tiny flashes of anxiety. The pull of worry around his eyes or his mouth.

He’s gotten better at concealing them.

Byleth also realises that he talks to her about everyone but himself. And the longer she looks, now better able to see _Claude_ and not a handsome stranger, the more she can see how tired he is.

Her eyes drop to see him shredding a hunk of bread in his hands, pieces falling to the napkin below. He’s removed his gloves to eat, and there’s a long silvery scar on the back of his left hand, making Byleth wonder if it was there five years ago, or if it’s new. He so often wore gloves that she’s never noticed it before.

She thinks of how nice it had felt to touch him earlier and, hardly realising what she’s doing, Byleth reaches out and smoothes her fingers over the back of his hand. Claude jolts slightly at the touch, dropping his bread and raising wide eyes to meet hers.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, embarrassment licking up her neck as she snatches her hand back.

Claude seems to have frozen, lips slightly parted and the hint of a blush across his cheeks. Byleth can’t keep his gaze, dropping her eyes down to her own food, stuffing a piece of dried meat into her mouth and chewing it without tasting it.

“Teach,” he finally says, voice strangled. He swallows before continuing. “Please don’t apologise for that.”

“For touching you?” The words fall out of her mouth without thought, only making her embarrassment worse. But it’s still not enough for her to look away from him.

She never wants to look away from him again.

Claude clears his throat. “Yes,” he replies, voice strained. “Look, Teach, I–“ He cuts off as Byleth, bolstered by his reply, reaches over to take his hand in hers. For a moment he simply stares down at their joined hands.

“Is this alright?” Byleth asks, marvelling over how warm he feels, and how her hand fits neatly into his larger one.

In response, Claude curls his fingers around hers and nods. Byleth watches his throat bob, trying to decipher his reaction.

And hers, if she’s being honest. She can feel her pulse hammering in her throat, with a sense of anticipation licking across her skin. All she wants is to lean in, to wrap herself around him, and–

She cuts the thought off with a sudden stab of guilt.

It’s not right to think about Claude like this.

And there are more important things to be thinking about. Like the war.

 _And_ she has a soulmate. This is– it _isn’t_ –

It’s confusing.

She takes a deep breath, shoving all those thoughts away for now. “Claude,” she says softly, waiting until he looks up at her face again. “You’ve told me how everyone else is. How are you?”

He smiles, but it’s forced. “You know me, Teach.”

“That’s not an answer.”

The smile eases into something more real, but there’s a hint of bitterness about it that makes Byleth hold his hand tighter.

“I’ve survived, and that’s all that matters, right?”

 _No_. ”Claude–“

Abruptly, he pulls his hand away and stands, brushing crumbs off his trousers. But when he speaks, his tone is genuine. “Teach, I know we have a lot to talk about, but I think–“ He glances briefly out at the clear sky, where the sun is now high in the sky ”–I think it can wait until later. Do you feel up for some exercise?”

Byleth blinks at the sudden change in topic. “Exercise?”

“Sure. It’ll help with digestion. And you’ve been sleeping for five years. Don’t you want to see if your skill with a blade has dulled?”

She narrows her eyes, knowing he’s trying to distract her. But she allows it, gracefully standing up to look him in the eye, because she can’t help but wonder if the last five years _have_ affected her in some way, even though she feels fine. Testing her skills seems like a good idea.

But she swears to herself that she’ll get answers out of him later.

“Is that a challenge, Claude?”

He laughs at that. “In a way. But not against me. There have been thieves looting the monastery. We’ll need to clear them out before we can move back in and make it safe for the merchants to return.” He raises an eyebrow. “Feel up to it?”

Byleth’s hand settles on the hilt of the Sword of the Creator as she nods. “Yes.”

He gives a cheeky salute in return, a look of satisfaction on his face.

  
  


***

  
  


Byleth hasn’t changed at all.

Claude keeps a close eye on her as they engage the thieves, both of them slipping easily back into the comfortable partnership they’d had in battle before she’d disappeared.

She doesn’t even look any different from the last time he’d seen her. _That,_ he hadn’t expected. Five years should have seen some change, right?

She’d been sleeping, she’d said. He believes her, but it’s clear it was no normal sleep. Of course it wasn’t – not this woman, this remarkable woman.

It’s not something he can dwell on right now, regardless. Instead, Claude focuses on the fight, spirits high at having Byleth by his side again.

They only raise further when the rest of the Golden Deer arrive.

He can’t help but laugh as Hilda heaves her axe over one shoulder and waves at him, Marianne smiling by her side, the others not far behind.

All of them have kept their promise. A promise they’d made to him.

They’re all finally together again.

.

Claude stays close to Byleth even after the battle is won. As glad as he is that the rest of the Golden Deer are here again, he still wants to pull Byleth away from them all. There’s a lot he has to say to her.

Unfortunately, there’s too much to be done for them to stop and have a heart to heart just yet. They have to get the monastery in liveable condition again – something that will take longer than a day, and for now the priority must simply be on making sure they have somewhere safe and secure to sleep.

He’s been preparing for this, of course. Claude has already sent letters and spoken to merchants, so sure he’d been that Byleth would return – and his hope is to soon have the Knights of Seiros back at the monastery, too.

He thinks about this as he watches Byleth. She actually seems surprisingly tense, but as he observes her, he can see how her eyes linger on everyone, tracing their faces and no doubt comparing them to how they’d looked like before – _before_ , to Byleth, being only a day ago.

The thought makes Claude frown, knowing that this is difficult for her, and knowing that he’s only going to make everything more difficult for her with his plans. They need a figurehead, and she’s going to be it. 

Something sad tugs at her smile as she talks to Leonie, and it only seems to deepen when her eyes raise and meet his again.

And all Claude can do is grit his teeth and plant his heels into the ground because he can’t comfort her. At least, not the way he wants to, not here, in front of everyone.

He knows how to be patient – after all, the last five years have been a painful lesson in it. But now that what he wants is so close, every bit of him is calling out to her so loudly that he doesn’t know how she can’t hear it.

Byleth’s gaze catches his again, some of the tension leaving her face as they silently stare across the room at each other.

It’s just for a moment, before Hilda pulls her attention away, but it makes Claude think that perhaps she _can_ hear it – she just doesn’t know what it is yet.

.

The problem is this: Claude doesn’t want to overwhelm her. As they try to get the monastery to be somewhat liveable again, he can see that she’s struggling, even though she hides it well.

He’s not sure when he learned to decipher Byleth’s expressions – expressions that can still often be muted despite how much she’s changed since he’d first met her. But even after five years, he can still tell.

Guilt pulls at him, but not because of the secret of his soulmark. Or at least, not solely because of it.

He also has to tell her he’s planning to use her as a figurehead to unite his army and the Church.

The banners have already been made – confident as Claude has been that Byleth would return to him ( _them_ , he amends to himself). They will march under the Crest of Flames.

But in the end, she takes that news gracefully enough, understanding that these things are necessary to win the war, but Claude can see the shadows under her eyes.

.

The Knights of Seiros return, the new banners are unfurled, and Byleth takes her place as acting Archbishop. There’s little time for anything but work and Byleth throws herself into it with an edge of desperation that gives Claude pause. He finds out that what little free time she has she spends training with Felix – who has returned along with Ferdinand.

The shadows under her eyes deepen, and Claude begins to worry. She hasn’t been back that long; she shouldn’t be looking as tired as the rest of them who have been fighting for five years.

“You should get some rest, my friend,” he tells her late one evening. They’re in the Cardinal’s Room and like always, they’re the last two left. Seteth has just taken his leave, yawning behind his hand as he’d bid them goodnight.

Byleth pauses from her writing, peering briefly up at Claude. “In a while.” And then, after a moment, “So should you.”

“I rest,” he responds. It’s not really a lie. He doesn’t sleep much, but he’d bet that he’s sleeping more than Byleth these days.

He rounds the table to rest against it, just beside where she’s sitting. With a sigh, Byleth sets down her quill, and leans back in her chair, looking up at him.

“Do you?” Byleth asks, challengingly.

“I rest enough,” he concedes.

Her eyes narrow. “You still haven’t told me how you’ve been these past five years.”

He hasn’t told her because he wants to tell her everything and he’s not sure if it’s the right time just yet. “Sure I have,” he hedges. “I told you–“

“You told me about the Alliance. About the Kingdom and the Empire and the Roundtable. About Hilda and Lorenz and Leonie and– and everyone and everything else but you.” Byleth stands, and she’s so close he can feel the heat of her. His mouth goes dry as she looks up into this face. “I keep forgetting how tall you are now,” she mutters.

Claude forces out a weak laugh. “Just put me beside Raphael if you want me to look small again.”

Her lips quirk slightly at that before it turns down into a frown. “I’m sorry for not being here.”

It’s not the first time she’s apologised for that. His hand raises, like reaching out to touch her is the most natural thing to do – the right to do, because she needs comfort – and it’s only at the last minute does Claude check himself, instead awkwardly running his hand through his hair. Byleth’s gaze has dropped back to the desk, piled high with papers, so he hopes she didn’t notice the unnatural movement.

“Teach,” he says softly, waiting until she looks at him again. “You didn’t leave by choice, we all know that.”

He sees her shoulders tense. “I know, but I want to make up for it.”

Claude reaches out again, but this time he doesn’t stop, and lets his hand rest on her shoulder. “I understand why you feel that way, but you still need to sleep.”

Her eyes are wide and luminous. Haunted. “But what if I don’t wake up?” she whispers.

 _Oh_. Now that she’s said it, that seems like an obvious concern. But… “We’re with you, now. If you don’t wake up, we’ll find a way to do it.” He smiles at her, wishing he could do more to alleviate her fears. “You’re not on your own this time, Byleth.”

For a moment it looks like she might argue with him, but she seems to mull over his words for a moment before nodding, eyes searching his face.

Relieved, Claude says, “So, will you allow me to walk you to your room? I’ll come knocking bright and early to get you up, if you like.”

She smiles at that, slight and small, but still there, and it’s not long before they’ve locked up the room and are making their way towards the dormitories. Claude attempts to keep a light conversation going, but it’s clear Byleth’s thoughts are elsewhere.

Her hand rubs the inside of her left arm, and his mouth goes dry again.

By the time they reach her room, they’ve lapsed into silence, but it’s not uncomfortable.

Byleth unlocks her door and is just about to step inside when she glances back at him. Her expression is guarded, which puts Claude on edge.

“Will you come in?”

“Uh–“ It’s the last thing he expected her to ask – to come into her bedroom in the middle of the night when the quiet and darkness makes everything seem so intimate, where there’s no chance of them being disturbed. When they are so very alone, and they haven’t been alone together since they’d reunited in the Goddess Tower.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to, though. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about being alone with Byleth a whole lot over the years.

“There’s something I’d like to talk to you about,” Byleth continues matter-of-factly, like she hasn’t just sent his thoughts spiralling.

Claude gathers himself. Of course, she just wants to talk. He’s reading more into this than necessary.

And he’s curious about what’s made her so serious.

“Sure thing, Teach,” he says, following her into the room and shutting the door behind him, watching as Byleth lights some of the oil lamps.

Her hand smooths down her arm again when she finally turns to look at him. She takes a deep breath. “I want to talk to you about something you said to me, five years ago.”

Claude stills, feeling the colour drain from his face. He knows what she’s going to say.

He’s still standing by the door. He can easily make an excuse and leave. There’s good odds on Byleth feeling bad she made him uncomfortable and not mentioning it again.

But…

Byleth is staring at him, chin raised and resolute. “Why did you say that I was your soulmate?” There’s an accusatory tone to her voice, and while he can’t really blame her, it stings nonetheless.

Claude’s heart thuds in his chest. He can feel it in his ears, his throat. How often has he thought about how this conversation would go, had planned what he’d say and do to make up for that clumsy first attempt?

 _Countless_ times and still he doesn’t feel quite ready for it. The truth is, he hadn’t quite expected Byleth to come out and ask just yet, not with everything else going on, and when she’s still adjusting to the world she’s woken up in.

Perhaps that had been naive. After all, he’d learned at a young age that things never went the way you expected or wanted them to.

He swallows heavily, considering. For a second there’s a brief flicker of doubt – what if the Byleth who’s name is on his chest isn’t her, after all? What if the name on her arm doesn’t say Khalid.

But it’s only for a second, because as he looks at Byleth – still standing strong despite her obvious tiredness and anxiety – and feels a thrum in his veins, any doubt disappears again, and the same faith that has kept going for the last five years returns.

Who’d have thought it? That he, Khalid, son of King Kadir, would become a man of faith.

He fingers his cravat, deciding to do what he should have done five years ago. In this case, actions are better than words, he thinks. “Can I show you my mark?”

It’s obvious his request surprises her, but Byleth nods, eyes widening as she watches his hands. Even in the low light, her eyes and hair seem to shimmer.

It’s only due to sheer muscle memory that Claude’s fingers don’t stumble. He loosens his cravat and then removes his gloves, and then the sash around his waist before draping it over the back of the chair at Byleth’s desk. As he works himself out of his overcoat, his eyes never leave Byleth’s face.

She’s still looking at his hands.

One of her own is curled around her upper arm. Her soulmark.

Byleth only looks away when he sheds the last of his clothes on his upper body, leaving him in just his boots and trousers. Claude can see the blush staining her cheeks.

He’s sure his own face matches hers. He’s never stripped down like this in front of anyone else. Even if it’s Byleth, who he trusts, the sense of vulnerability leaves him a little on edge.

But he’s come this far and he needs her to see.

When he takes a step forward, Byleth looks back at him. He sees her eyes dance across his body, and he sees the second she reads her name on his chest. Her eyes widen even further, and her mouth drops open slightly like she’s going to say something, but no noise comes out.

With another step forward, Claude is close enough to her to reach out and take one of her hands in his and place it over his soulmark.

Her hand is warm. His breath stutters at her touch, and his eyes briefly fall shut as her calloused fingertips brush across his skin. He wonders if she can feel how hard his heart is hammering.

It’s Byleth who breaks the silence, and when she does there’s a waver in her voice; something in it that he’s never heard before. “Claude?”

Opening his eyes, Claude is taken aback by the expression on her face. She looks heartbreakingly sad.

“Claude,” she says again, shaking her head. “I’m not–“

He decides to interrupt her, and hopes she won’t mind, considering what he’s about to say. “My name, the name my parents gave me, is Khalid.”

To his dismay she jerks back, a gasp escaping her lips as she looks at him with disbelief. Her reaction is enough to tell him that he’s _right_ but despite that, he suddenly feels desperate to have her acknowledge it. So when she doesn’t immediately reply, he says, “I’m sorry for how I said it, before. It wasn’t how I meant to do it and then Edelgard attacked and you were gone.” His tone turns pleading. “Please, Byleth. Please believe me.”

Seconds tick by – endless, eternal seconds – before Byleth seems to unfreeze. Her gaze drops back to his chest – to her name – before she looks up to meet his eyes again. Her flush deepens, and she swallows heavily.

Each tiny movement she makes, Claude tracks, trying to be patient and let her digest everything. He keeps himself still, like any movement on his part would frighten her away, except that’s nonsense; Byleth isn’t so easily scared.

And then, finally she takes a deep breath and Claude thinks his heart stops.

“I believe you,” is what she says.

His heart starts beating again.

***

“ _I believe you_ ,” Byleth tells him. It isn’t until she says those words that she realises how true they are.

She stares at the man in front of her, at her name on his skin, at _Khalid_ and suddenly it all makes sense now how Claude has made her feel.

When she’d seen her name on his skin, she’d been happier than she could ever recall, right up until she’d remembered that his name wasn’t on _her_ skin. And then her stomach had dropped and the crushing realisation had set in that she wanted Claude to be her soulmate more than anything.

Her own mark pulses strongly, as it has been ever since Claude had said his name.

“Khalid,” she says, saying the name out loud for only the second time in her life.

In front of her, Claude draws in a shuddering breath as he places a hand over his soulmark. Byleth blinks out of her thoughts, realising that she’s still staring at his shirtless chest.

Her eyes raise to his face and she can see the anxiety he can’t quite conceal.

“Khalid.” With a smile, she repeats the name – his name – like a prayer. It feels so good to say.

And her smile seems to chase away some of the tension around Claude’s eyes. She reaches out and takes Claude’s hand, moving it so she can see her name on his skin again, lacing their fingers together.

With her free hand, she traces the letters, marvelling at his warm skin, and the way he sighs when she touches him.

“Do you want to see mine?”

“Teach,” he responds in a low voice. “I’ve wanted nothing more for the last five years.”

The way he’s looking at her makes heat coil in her stomach. She’s quickly grown used to the changes in him – and found herself watching him surreptitiously whenever she could.

But to have him looking at her like _this_ , with fondness and desire winning out over his lingering anxiety, makes Byleth feel like she’s flying. With a shaky breath, she releases his hand and lets her overcoat fall to the ground with a thump. Next, she removes her bracers, also dropping them, uncaring about where they land.

Nerves flare up inside her as she fingers the hem of her black shirt.

She’s never stripped for anyone before.

But… this is Claude, still waiting patiently.

Byleth realises she can’t even imagine it – to wait for as long as he has.

And her name is on his skin; the letters seeming to shimmer in the low light.

She pulls her shirt up and over her head, flinging it away, leaving her clad in only her boots, tights, shorts, and brassiere. Stretching out her arm, she watches Claude’s face. When he reads her name, the breath seems to punch out of him. She sees it on his face, the naked emotion and exhilaration of seeing your name on someone’s body.

Byleth feels it too, like she’s just done an upside-down loop on a wyvern. Her stomach swoops pleasantly and then settles as happiness spreads throughout her. It feels strange, not in a bad way, but–

With a jolt, she realises she’s feeling what _Claude_ is feeling.

He laughs, breathless, obviously experiencing the same thing. His eyes are bright, for once unburdened, his smile wide, the happiness she can feel clear on his face and he’s never looked more beautiful to her. 

There are questions in the back of her mind – why hadn’t he said anything, why does he hide his real name? – but right now they are firmly in the _back_ , because she’s overwhelmed with the desire to touch him. She feels like she might just die if she can’t. And judging from the way Claude steps closer as she reaches out, from the almost desperate gasp that escapes his lips as she touches his chest, from the way she thinks she can feel her own heart beat through the strength of his–

She thinks he feels the same. 

When their lips touch, she _knows_ he feels the same. It’s just a gentle brush of a kiss, but it’s still overwhelming enough for Byleth to feel like she might burst. His hands touch her just as gently, smoothing over her back and arms. When his fingers reach her soulmark, he gasps and draws back slightly to look at it again.

Byleth slides her hands up to tangle in his hair, so soft under her fingers, letting him look. He’s pressed closer to her now, his bare chest and her own name right in front of her eyes.

He’s her _soulmate_.

How had she not known?

“Khalid,” she whispers, trying the name on her tongue again.

His eyes snap back to hers. He can feel her sudden uncertainty. So strange, Byleth thinks, to know that, to suddenly be so aware of another person’s feelings, to feel them settling beside her own. She can feel how much he wants to comfort her, that desire mixed up with another kind of desire.

She shivers.

“Are you alright?” He brushes some hair away from her face, and Byleth can’t help but lean into his touch.

“Why didn’t you say anything before?”

His gaze darts away. She can feel his guilt as much as she can see it.

“I did try,” he eventually says, before sighing. “I probably could have tried harder. In my defence, I never expected to lose you for five years.”

She feels that loss in a way she never has before; in the sudden feeling of loneliness that threatens to overwhelm her.

It feels natural to lean forward and press her lips to his soulmark and wrap her arms around him. Claude holds her to him just as tightly, his hands exploring the skin of her back.

“You had almost a year, you know,” she murmurs against his skin. 

“I know. Trust didn’t come easy to me, back then.”

“Are you saying it does now?” Byleth asks, somewhat archly.

He laughs, but it’s tinged with a hint of bitterness. “No. But I’ve learned I can trust some people. You. The Deer. Judith.” 

“But you haven’t told any of them your real name.” 

“Ah. No. None of _them_ are my soulmate, Teach.”

She pulls back to look him in the eyes and asks the question she knows he’s waiting for. “Why do you have a fake name?”

He leans down, like he’s going to kiss her, and as much as Byleth does want that, right now she wants an answer more. She lifts a hand between their faces, but it doesn’t deter Claude at all, who simply kisses the palm of her hand instead.

“Claude,” she says, somewhat weakly, desire flaring again, hers mixed up with his.

“Khalid,” he responds fiercely, speaking against her skin, eyes flashing. “My name is Khalid.” 

Byleth pulls her hand away from his mouth, not giving him the satisfaction. “Tell me.”

He huffs, but pulls back slightly. “Of course. But… Can we get more comfortable? It’s late.”

Byleth glances over at her bed. “Do you want to stay here tonight?” She asks the question without really thinking about it, only stopping to realise after she’d spoken how forward it sounds. But it doesn’t feel wrong or presumptuous, it feels like the right thing to do.

And while Claude pinks slightly, and Byleth feels a flicker of nerves from him, he still nods decisively. “Yes,” he says, “I do.” 

Perhaps, Byleth thinks dimly, they should be concerned about that, about the possibility of Claude leaving her room tomorrow and being seen. Appearances are important after all. He is leading the Alliance and she’s become a figurehead of the Church.

But it’s a dim thought, easy to dismiss, because the thought of sending him away is unacceptable, simply _unacceptable_. There’s a thrumming need in her to be close to him, to touch, to press her lips against every part of him…

Claude lets out a shuddering breath, eyes dark and expression hungry as he watches her. 

“That’s a pretty intense feeling, Teach,” he murmurs, low and silky and Byleth feels her whole body clench with need. It’s so startlingly strong she gasps lightly and Claude groans as he runs a hand through his hair.

“Are you sure you want me to stay?” he asks, but his brows furrow as soon as the words are out of his mouth. “You are, aren’t you?” He continues on, without her needing to verbalise her answer.

He sounds amazed, and Byleth understands why. This _is_ intense, and heady and scary and wonderful, and without thinking any further on it, she bends down to take off her boots. Once they’re removed, she straightens and then hesitates because Claude is still looking at her with that hungry expression. Her own eyes drop back down to his bare chest.

“If you want to talk, perhaps it’s best if we don’t remove any more clothing.”

He’s not doing anything to help her arousal by talking like that, in a voice thick with want. Byleth swallows, trying to wet her dry throat, but nods and steps forward, taking his hand in hers and leading him towards the bed. Just as she reaches it, Claude tugs on her hand and spins her around, pulling her against him as he kisses her again; deep, open mouthed kisses that make her head spin and her toes curl. 

When they pull apart, they’re both panting.

“Sorry,” he rasps out. “I just–”

Byleth arches against him as she pulls his head back down to hers, slanting her mouth over his again. And despite how much she wants to keep doing this, to pull him down onto the bed with her and and and learn exactly how good this desire can feel–

She has to know.

This time when they separate Claude takes a step back, dragging a hand through his air as he stares at her with a somewhat stunned expression. 

“Maybe the bed’s not a good idea, either,” he says, voice hoarse, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

Byleth drops down to sit on the edge of the bed, blinking up at him. She takes a deep breath, trying to get herself under control. “Sit over there,” she orders, gesturing to the chair at her desk, with only a slight waver in her voice.

Claude’s eyebrow raises slightly at the use of her Professor voice, but with a quirk of his lips, he does as she says, pulling the chair around to face the bed and settling into it.

She still has to briefly close her eyes, because the way he’s sprawled out in the chair, arousal clear, chest bare, and now out of touching distance, is actually worse than before. Her hands twitch and she curls her fingers into the blankets on her bed because otherwise she’s going to stand up and grab _him_ –

“ _Byleth_ ,” Claude groans, shifting in the chair and leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, letting out a long breath as he does so. “You know, I’ve read everything I could on soulmarks, and accounts of soulmates describing how it felt when they first acknowledged each other as such, but–“ his own hands bunch up the fabric of his trousers ”–I never expected it to feel like _this_.”

Of course Claude has read everything to do with soulmarks, Byleth thinks with fond amusement. No doubt he knows a lot more about them than her. But she nods in agreement. “It’s… a lot,” she says quietly.

“Not in a bad way, I hope?” He’s trying to be flippant, but Claude can’t quite hide the real anxiety under it. Or perhaps that’s just their connection.

“No,” Byleth replies, quietly, but honestly, her eyes never leaving his face. “It’s just that I was still getting used to feeling so much myself. You–“ she pauses, letting herself feel their connection again, and thinks to herself that it isn’t an _unfamiliar_ feeling. She’s felt this since the moment she met Claude, but it’s always been muted. Subdued, and something she could ignore for a time. But not now – not that she even wants to. “You feel a lot.”

He smiles at that. “So do you, you know.”

Byleth glances away at that, not even sure why she’s embarrassed by it. She feels Claude’s gaze, his affection smoothing across her like a caress.

It’s nice to know though, that despite whatever happened to her as a baby, she isn’t that different from anyone else.

“Khalid.” Her eyes swing back to his to see a smile spreading across his face.

“That’s my name,” he says, sounding satisfied, looking again at her soulmark; his name on her skin.

She does the same, looking at the proof of their connection – the letters resting above his heart. Byleth leans forward, mirroring his posture.

“Khalid,” she says again. “Tell me.”

***

He tells her. For once there is no obfuscation, no directing the conversation away. It’s terrifying to tell her, to trust her like this with all his secrets, with who he is. But it’s also freeing, because he _does_ trust her. He’s trusted her for years, he’s trusted her since before he even knew it, and if he’d allowed himself to acknowledge that, then maybe he wouldn’t have messed up so badly five years ago.

He tells her everything; of a boy who was of both Fódlan and Almyra blood, a prince much beloved by his parents, but who was expected to stand on his own two feet against those that hated the cowardly blood in his veins.

It’s not the first time he’s spoken to her of his dream, but he tells her of it again, this time making his motivations and ambitions clear.

He tells her of coming to Fódlan, intent on making that dream a reality.

He tells her of how he felt when he met her, his fear and distrust, his _disbelief_ that his soulmate could just have appeared like she had, perfect in every way, because Khalid was not someone used to finding things easy. It could not have been that easy.

It could have been that easy, perhaps. But if he’d been the kind of person to open himself up so quickly in the first place… who’s to say what else could have been different?

And as he talks, Claude feels exposed and his heart never stops hammering, because it doesn’t matter how much he trusts her, how good it is to finally tell her everything he’s wanted to say for so long, there’s still that part of him that values his self preservation above all else, that tells him to _hold onto his secrets_. It’s what kept him alive this long. 

There’s a part of him that fears – what if, despite it all, she still rejects him for who he is.

And all the time he speaks, Byleth’s face remains mostly impassive, as it so often does. Only a slight widening or narrowing of her eyes is the only external response she gives.

But underneath, he can _feel_ it. Her anger when he tells her of assassination attempts. Her curiosity when he speaks of Almyra, her concern for him, her warmth, her _empathy_. 

There’s nothing to fear from Byleth knowing, and everything to gain, but still his anxiety doesn’t ease until she rises from the bed to approach him again, and gently slides a hand up his arm to rest on his shoulder. After a flicker of indecision, she sits herself across his lap and hugs herself to him.

Claude responds eagerly, shuddering at the touch of bare skin against his. He’s not used to this, he’s _never_ felt this before, the warm comfort of skin against skin, and he’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to go without it again. Byleth tucks herself against him, her breath soft against his neck.

Only then does Claude relax with a sigh, and the words come a little easier. And when he thinks he’s told her everything that explains why he did what he did and is the way he is, he still skirts around how those things _hurt_ and how they forced him to build up this invisible armour and mask around himself. He may have his dreams and he may care for people but he can care while keeping his distance, keeping his mask and his armour–

And, well, in the end he doesn’t need to say it, because she seems to know.

.

They sit in silence for a while, Claude letting Byleth process what he’s told her as they remain curled up on a chair that’s really far too small for them both.

He thinks her first question for him might be about the fact that he’s Almyran royalty; the crux of his reason for his secrets – that he’s a prince from another, enemy country. 

But instead, she pulls back to look him in the face, her brows furrowed, and asks, “Are you still in danger now? From Almyran assassins?”

He blinks. Alright, so her first reaction is _somewhat_ to do with the Almyran royalty thing, but not quite in the way he expected.

“It’s always a risk,” he responds slowly, “but it’s not common knowledge that this is where I am, _and_ it’s much harder to reach me here. I also have a– a friend from home that helps.” No doubt she’ll meet Nader, who is currently in Derdriu, at some stage. “Anyway,” he goes on, attempting to be more cheerful, “I’m more at risk from poisoning by Count Gloucester.”

The attempt at lifting the mood falls flat, and Byleth’s face darkens. She gets off his lap, but doesn’t go far, standing between his spread legs and gently running a hand through his hair to tilt his face up to hers.

“I will never let any of them get near you,” she states in a low but determined voice, fiercely at odds with her soft touch, and presses her lips to his as if to seal a promise with a kiss.

And for a second, Claude is too stunned to reply, taken aback by how she’d said it – like it’s a statement of fact. She has decided: no one will hurt him, and so no one will. It’s not a promise anyone can make and keep, but he can’t help but believe her.

Or at _least_ , he believes that he’ll no longer have to be alone. Their battles are shared, now.

Something lurches inside him at the realisation, and he arches up against her, kissing her back desperately. She leads them back to the bed, and this time neither of them stop and there’s no more talking as the rest of their clothes are pulled off and the desperation edges out of Claude’s kisses as he explores Byleth’s body with his fingers and lips, brushing over scars and muscle and soft skin and finally her soulmark.

She sighs and shifts under him, and he can feel both her arousal and contentment just as surely as he can feel her fingers running through his hair, while her other hand runs down his back. Peeking up at her face, he meets her eyes, heavy and smiling, her cheeks flushed, and Claude raises his head to smile back before kissing her again.

For once his mind is not whirling with worries and plans and ambitions and the never ending mental list he keeps of things that must be done or else they lose this war and everyone dies. Instead there’s just Byleth, and him, and the realisation of one of his dreams.

It will all come rushing back in the morning, of course. There’s so many things that need to be done, so many lives that depend on them.

But for now, there’s this, just him and his soulmate.

.

Claude wakes to a number of sensations: Byleth’s hair swishing over his skin as she resettles herself against him, her leg hooked around his waist, her breath soft and warm. There’s only a split second of alarm in him – he’s always slept alone and remained alert, it’s too ingrained in him not to feel it, and he tenses up.

“It’s just me,” she whispers, lips brushing against his shoulder, and he relaxes back into her embrace, his back against her chest, his hand seeking hers, clasping them together over his heart, and he falls back asleep.

.

It’s still early when they rise and Claude prepares to sneak out of her room.

“What do you want to do?” Byleth asks, watching him dress as she remains lying in bed. He can’t look at her or he’ll end up back there with her.

He pauses in his movements. “Soulmates are goddess blessed. If we make it public, we can be together openingly. And it could be a boon.” He grimaces as he speaks, despite he himself being the one who had placed Byleth as their religious figurehead, continuing what Rhea had started, despite his dislike for the Archbishop. But Claude doesn’t want to use their bond in such a way.

“Or people will be suspicious. We’ve known each other too long for them not to question why we didn’t discover this before.”

“And then I’ll have to tell them my real name.” Which would lead to more questions. Which would inevitably lead to the further destabilisation of the Alliance. An Almyran lying about his name? Claude can hear the cacophony of the Roundtable already. They can’t afford to let that happen.

He doesn’t need to say this out loud. Byleth sits up, her face serious, and he knows she’s aware of how badly this could play out. 

“We keep it to ourselves,” she says softly but firmly. “For now.”

“And you’re okay with that?” She is, he knows. He can feel it. She’s certain. It’s no surprise – he may have that ridiculous nickname of the _Master Tactician_ , but Teach is no slouch herself.

She shrugs. “I don’t tell people my business anyway. And–“ She turns arch. “I’d be rather disappointed in you if you can’t figure out how to get in and out of my room unseen.”

A grin spreads across his face at that. “Quite a challenge, Teach.”

“The prize is worth it, I’m sure.” She shifts, and the blanket falls from her, revealing her naked body.

Claude groans, twisting the shirt in his hands into an even more crumpled mess. “You’re not playing fair.”

“And you do?”

He drops the shirt and stalks over to her, tugging the blanket all the way off her legs and clambering onto the bed again. She’s already tugging at his trousers.

“Don’t you think,” he asks between breathless kisses, ”one of us should play fair?”

Byleth when she replies is clearly trying to sound stern but to his delight, she’s failing, too distracted by his touch. “And don’t you _think_ , after taking so long to tell me your name, that you deserve payback?” She doesn’t give him a chance to reply before she flips him over onto his back so she’s straddling him and grins triumphantly at him.

“Maybe payback isn’t so bad,” Claude murmurs, hardly aware of what he’s even saying, too busy pulling her back down to kiss her again.

.

The sun has risen high by the time he finally leaves her room, and he manages to get back to his own unseen, rumpled and mussed as he is, with only some difficulty.

A shame his bedroom isn’t on the ground floor, Claude muses. Perhaps he should try to learn to climb again.

He laughs at himself, pressing his fingers to his lips and allowing himself a final moment of lightness before he has to make himself presentable as Duke Riegan and go and win a war.

***

The war is long and brutal, and as the moons go by, everyone struggles in their own ways. Byleth, learning how it is to have a soulmate, watches Felix with a new awareness, seeing the way his head turns suddenly towards Ferdinand at times, and she too glances over, only to see the other man smiling at someone else. It takes her a while to realise Ferdinand is hiding his grief and Felix knows it.

Once, only once, she asks Ferdinand some of the questions that have been on her mind. They are not close – he hadn’t been her student, after all – and while Ferdinand seems surprised, he answers readily.

“No,” he says, giving Byleth his full attention. “I do not regret the side I have chosen to fight on, despite my worry for my mother and siblings.” He pauses. “My regrets are only that I did not see what was going on sooner, but I know it is my duty to stop Edelgard.”

“And does it help, having Felix?”

“Oh!” The mention of his soulmate has Ferdinand lighting up, a wide smile stretching across his face, all the worries falling from him. It’s rather beautiful to see, Byleth thinks. “Immensely. I know many people do not understand him, but he is a source of strength to me, and he helps me remain focused.” Ferdinand laughs. “He does not hesitate to tell me the things he thinks I need to hear.”

“I bet not,” she replies wryly.

“He is often right, so I do not mind. And he appreciates when I am frank with him, also.” Ferdinand sounds so fond, it makes Byleth smile. “I do hope that one day you will meet your soulmate, and know how wonderful it is, too.”

She feels herself flush at that, and has to work to keep her expression under control. At least she’s had a lot of practice at that. “Well,” she begins, not wanting to lie to Ferdinand’s face but cursing herself for not foreseeing that he’d say something like this. And yet, she finds she wants more than anything to talk about Claude, to tell Ferdinand that _yes_ , it is wonderful. “I– Yes.”

He raises his eyebrows in polite surprise at her flustering. “Professor?”

“I have to go, Ferdinand,” she tells him, as smoothly as she can manage, and makes a hasty exit.

.

Sometimes, Byleth thinks it must be obvious to everyone. She can’t keep her eyes off Claude, and judging by how often their eyes meet across the table during meetings, he’s just as bad. They don’t quite get around to fulfilling that old soulmate stereotype of finishing each other's sentences, but their connection has them in sync, both on and off the battlefield. More than one person comments on how well they work together, and Byleth is sure there are already rumours about them circulating, but it’s impossible for them to pretend they’re not close.

They learn to be careful about leaving any marks on skin that might be seen by others, though. No need to make it too obvious.

And they learn both patience and wanting, because while they work together constantly, there’s too much to be done and too many other people around for them to spend as much time together in the way they want.

It’s only at night, when he slips into her room, if they’re not marching, that they shed their titles along with their clothes and are just Khalid and Byleth.

And she loves him. She loves him so much it takes her by surprise, and then she falls in love with him a little more. His clever mind, his quick mouth, his skill, his passion, his _compassion_ , his power. 

Keeping it to themselves _is_ difficult. But she knows it’s something that could be exploited. For what if word got out – even discounting what might happen if Claude’s heritage was found out sooner than planned – what better way to destroy the leader of the Alliance than by killing his soulmate?

Or vice versa, of course. But Byleth won’t let either of those things happen. She’ll do everything she can to keep him, her, and all of their friends safe.

She, like Ferdinand in Felix, finds strength in Claude, and on the nights they steal together, she falls asleep listening to his heartbeat.

.

Moons pass, battles are fought and hard won, and finally they reach Enbarr.

Ferdinand walks through the familiar streets of a city he’d spent so much time in as a child, and Felix is beside him when he faces down Hubert with a pained expression.

Claude is beside Byleth when she strikes down Edelgard.

Afterwards, Byleth is weary to find there are more battles to fight, but she doesn’t falter in picking up her sword again.

She’s weary even after those battles are won and the war finally ends, because she has to watch Claude fly away, going east over the mountains and towards Almyra.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he tells her on their last night together, whispered into her skin, a confession made in the dark.

And she doesn’t want him to leave her. She wants to go with him. But she can’t leave Fódlan, not when she’s to be queen. But Claude’s dream is hers now, too, and time spent apart now will be worth it. Byleth is as sure as that as she is about how much she loves him.

Claude’s smile is soft when she says that. “I love you too, with everything I am.”

.

What Byleth doesn’t expect is to find herself, six months later, fighting off an invasion. She’s furious, as angry as she’d been when she’d seen Kronya again after her father’s death. Those Who Slither in the Dark have killed and destroyed villages and towns on their way to Derdriu through Leicester, and she has had _enough_. It’s been a difficult six months, learning to rule and trying to help Fódlan recover after the war, and she’s not going to let it end like this.

Unfortunately, righteous anger doesn’t win a battle. Byleth cuts an impressive figure on her wyvern, deftly using the Sword of the Creator to cut down swathes of enemies. But it’s not enough. There’s just too many of them.

Khalid can feel her fear, she knows, because she can feel _his_. Despite the distance between them, she’s still been able to feel close to him this way, even when the feelings are negative and she’d do anything to be at his side to make it better. 

And now, his fear is sharp, his worry bleeding into hers, and she knows it’s just reflecting her own emotions. She can’t imagine how it must be for him, to know there’s something wrong and not be here to help.

Byleth had sent a message to Almyra, of course. Claude had left her with a way to contact him in case of an emergency. But it won’t get there in time to help them now.

She soars into the sky, expertly controlling the wyvern, casting her eyes on the troops below, trying to remain dispassionate about the damage done to Derdriu and the knowledge that many people have died today.

 _There’s too many of them_ , she thinks, bleak. There is no strategy that will win them this.

Perhaps she can turn back time; push it further than she ever has before, to days, weeks ago, anything that might give them more _time_. She could get a letter to Khalid, and pull in troops from Faerghus and Adrestria.

She sees enemy archers take aim at her, and sails away, out of their reach, back to her battalion.

She _won’t_ let it end like this.

Just as Byleth prepares herself to pull on the hands of time, a shout from her battalion gets her attention.

She turns her head east, looking out over the clear, blue sky, and in the distance she sees a dot, rapidly growing larger. Flying units approaching.

Her breath catches. At least it’s not those pillars of light they saw at Merceus. They would have no defence against that. 

But...

_Is this friend or foe?_

“Inform the ground troops,” she instructs. “Tell them to be ready.”

She ignores the movement around her as she focuses on the figures in the distance. Below her, the fighting continues.

Anticipation coils in her. Hope that all is not lost.

Is that Claude coming closer, that she can feel? Or is it just wishful thinking?

She inches her wyvern forward, like it might help.

“Khalid,” she whispers. _Hoping_.

“Your Majesty,” a voice by her side says. “What are your orders?”

She ignores him for now, still watching the sky intently. What had been a dot is now bigger – it’s a cloud. Wyverns. An _army_.

Part of the cloud breaks away in formation, diving through the sky. Arrows fly through the air – towards the ground troops of Those Who Slither in the Dark.

Byleth’s heart doesn’t beat, but it still leaps in her chest, her hope rising.

 _Friend_.

Once again, her feelings are reflected back at her through a connection no person has ever been able to fully understand or explain, but still, she _knows_.

Khalid.

Byleth shouts out her orders, knowing that he’s here, with an army. That they’re saved from the brink of destruction. 

And then she throws herself back into the battle. Time to end it.

.

The Almyrans are ferocious and meticulous, and the enemy are taken by complete surprise. Their magic may be powerful, but the Almyrans are quick and Khalid... _Khalid_ is commanding them, he must be.

Byleth’s pulse thrums. How far has he come in the last six months? She’s felt his highs and lows without knowing the details.

She pauses for a moment, giving her wyvern a thankful pat along her neck, who rumbles back in response, still alert for danger around. There’s still no sign of Claude.

Nader finds her first.

“Not sure what I should call you,” he shouts out to her, hefting his bloodied axe over his shoulder from where he sits on his own wyvern. “Professor? Archbishop? _Queen_?” A smirk crosses his face.

“Byleth is fine,” she responds, impatient. ”Claude–“

“Should be around here somewhere,” Nader answers casually, like they aren’t in the middle of a battle and Claude isn’t his commander. “Still as flashy as ever. I’m sure you’ll see him soon.”

Nodding, she prepares to take off again. There’s so many things she needs to know, but for now all she asks is – “He’s okay?”

Nader laughs. “It’s been an interesting few months, but the kiddo’s tough. He’s missed you though. I’m tired of seeing him clutch his chest and stare to the west.”

She gives him a look that used to make her students fall silent, but he only laughs again and waves her off.

.

It’s not long after that that she _finally_ finds Khalid, when the battle is winding down and their victory is clear, all to the backdrop of the setting sun. She doesn’t know how she’s missed him before – he’s the only one on a white wyvern, and he still carries Failnaught, which glows bright in his hands.

But he’s here now, and she directs her wyvern up towards him.

He meets her halfway, a smile spreading across his lips even as his eyes check her over with worry, and they manoeuvre their wyverns close together, letting the beasts scent each other carefully.

Khalid looks… good. Tired, with that weariness he’d worn during the war, but his eyes are bright and his smile is warm, and she feels his relief and his love.

“I’ve missed you,” the words rush out of her. She’s missed him so much it’s been a physical ache at times, even when she could feel that he was missing her just as much. Despite how pragmatic both of them had been about being apart, it’s been more difficult than she’d imagined.

Khalid’s eyes soften. “I know, Teach, I’ve missed you too. I’m sorry I’m late.”

He stretches an arm out, and Byleth does the same, letting him take her hand in his and even through their gloves, there’s immediate relief at touching him again. Beneath them, a cheer goes up as the last of their foes are defeated.

“And you?”

“I did it,” he replies quietly, but there’s pride in his eyes.

She smiles. “I knew you would.”

“There’s still so much to do, my rule is exactly secure yet, but…” His grip tightens slightly. “We won’t be apart for so long again. I promise you.” There’s a beat of silence between them as they both let their connection say more than words could. “It helps that you’re better on a wyvern now,” he finally continues, his smile sliding into something more teasing. “Think you’d be up for flying to Almyra someday?”

She glances past him, to where she knows the distant peaks of the mountains separating their countries lie, hidden now in the growing darkness.

“Yes,” she says decisively. “It might be better than cutting down the mountain to get through.”

“Hmm.” Khalid glances over his shoulder as if contemplating it. “You’re right. We have the wyverns living there to think about.”

She laughs at that, delighted and happy and relieved, and she lets go of his hand only so she can land her wyvern, Khalid following her closely.

As soon as they land, he ignores everyone else and pulls Byleth into his arms, kissing her without care. She responds in kind, holding tight to him, uncaring of who might see. It’s time for King Khalid to come clean to his friends about a number of things, but Byleth things it will all be okay. So does he, it seems. 

Both of them ignore Hilda’s pointed comment of _I knew it_ somewhere behind them.

“This is it,” Byleth whispers to him just before they break away from each other and face the others. “Your new dawn.”

“ _Our_ new dawn, Byleth” he corrects, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “All of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and for all the lovely comments. 💕 This was my first attempt at a soulmate au and it was fun to write!

**Author's Note:**

> This is a day early because I... got the days mixed up, if I'm being honest, and I don't feel like waiting to post. Chapter 2 will be up tomorrow, in which we get to Garreg Mach.


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